Zagreus: If I'm going to have a past, I prefer it to be multiple choice.
DODGE THE WHEEL
- Thread starter BrunofanofK
- Start date
- Crossover
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- washington
Probably a straight up god if we're being honest due to divine censure.
The Strongest Isekai in History VS The Strongest Isekai of Today!
- Location
- Brazil
To the victor, the spoils. Argyrchiara Sarkoris, an atavist silver bright world from bygone ages. Before the Father chastised the land for the impiousness of its people, as he so often does. A paradise capable of competing with Elysium, Heaven, and Nirvana. A land of abundance where one's labor can sustain a man for a month and wonders the rest of the world should no longer be capable of offer can be found.
Ascending to heaven, climbing Olympus Mons, meant bridging the gap between mortality and divinity with understanding. And Greek cultivators hold one maxim above all else – as above, so bellow. The Greek perspective and foundational conceit were that a man's external reality mirrored his internal reality like an Ouroboros – virtue displayed as performative excellence.
Where one begins and the other ends is a subsequent assessment to be made after one has grasped it, some would argue. Fools that is. In a sense, it could even be said that cultivation is a matter of structure. The things one puts into one's body will make up its physical structure. The same is also true of the soul on a metaphysical scale. 'You are what you eat.'
The Greeks desired beauty of self, order over chaos, and so they also imposed that beauty and order on the world outside of themselves, surrounding and submerging themselves in it. That is why Greater Mysteries hold so much value - by tempering the soul under the natural mystery of the greatest order Olympus itself is within reach. The end goal of cultivation is to refine the lowly human being into an existence comparable to a god by mimicking and internalizing its virtue. Its excellence.
In this respect, my country stands as an island in the sun beyond reproach. I have no doubt in my mind that even the most arrogant true born scions of greater mystery cults of the free Mediterranean would not hesitate in recognizing Sarokis as a found piece of our faith's mangled mosaic and fight to the death to claim it the 'barbarian' kellids I had gifted it to.
I had truly lived up to my name… and yet my cup still tasted bitter. Is that what Bakkahos felt? The end was not to my satisfaction. For reasons beyond count but the fact they elude me the moment I try to tackle them into a comprehensive list only sour my cup further. I am not a perfectionist, but be sure, that doesn't mean I couldn't have done better. Should I have been more ambitious after all and risked it all? Maybe this is a byproduct of relief, the whit furiously striking my back since I landed in Numeria up to when I saw Areelu depart has finally calmed down. I did my best, it might have not been good enough, but I am only human. Arrogance has always been just a theatrical indulgence on my part.
But now it was time to face the future. Starting with the fact I have no intention of returning to Japan. Hell! Let's be honest, if Argyrchiara could receive faith power from people back on earth and grant them divine magic then I could have used this as a link to get back home… eventually. The fact she did not offer and I never tried shows that I was running away to some extent.
I also have no interest in ruling over Argyrchiara Sarkoris. If I put my back on it, I can turn any land into a silver bright wonder. It was fun but I don't have much attachment to the place itself as the Worldwound had been a hell hole. The same cannot be said for the people though. I can scarcely tolerate to see them go. The same way to the people back on Earth.
I guess home is where the heart is. There is this restlessness within me, I always have been someone who thinks with my feet and I wish to keep marching on. But I also refuse to abandon the bonds I have forged through my travels. Fortunately, I had the means to make that unreasonable request somewhat viable.
That is why I gave my best shot at this whole Divine Founder thing, passing down edicts and orientations to how government, politics, and religion are to be run in Sarkoris. Something I actually have experience in since Ba Sing Se and helping the Avatar reorganize the world order after the One Hundred Years War. While I never imagined myself as a master of statecraft, Aang visited me regularly for guidance and considering I was living in Wan Shi Tong's Library I had ample access to historical records to give Ang a ample perspective of his options. This was only perfect in my tenure in the bloody politics of jujutsu sorcerers, to the point I can today claim with confidence that I know what I am doing.
I split the territory is provinces, mapping the territory that is to be conserved, the layout of future roads, and the locations of city-states (Polis) that are to be erected. I honored the most nondecorated generals with the right to govern, the greatest soldiers with nobility as proof of their excellence, conferred the druids with tutelage and stewardship of the land, and gave the Order of the Claw the recognition to act as an impartial police force to any institution that requires its assistance. In the end, it was a mix of republican Rome led by senator generals, Greek fractured polis with a Macedonia Empire-like identity.
The vestiges of the ordinary cosmopolitan citizen of a democratic state in me have some concerns about such a retrograde model, but nobles here literally have mythical power granted by yours truly. Men were not made equal the moment cultivation entered the equation. It was more a matter of acknowledging people's standing and organizing things so they don't implode the moment I turn my back on it. I even gave the Hellknights some artificial intelligence artifacts capable of tracking down social trends in an effort to curb their zealotry toward more productive endeavors.
Much like in the One Hundred Years War, the people of Golarion lost their appetite for combat after fighting demons for one century. Even I am tired of the fight, to be honest.
That is why I reached for my friends once things were settled and offered them my underworld pass. Considering Panaka was technically condemned to the Abyss after fusing himself with the plane, he opted to accept my gift. Arueshalae, who defied her demonic origin and recasted herself as an azata of the Elysium also accepted since 'her Panaka was her Elysium' (yes, they are the cutest couple). While those already sworn to another deity like Seelah and Sosiel shot me down, Nenio, Regill, Woljif, and Lan accepted. Even Daeran, the closest thing to militant atheist this world has to offer, accepted the moment he learned the afterlife is a perpetual bacchanal, the party animal that he was. The most reluctant one was Ember, she had that dangerous mix of naivety, goodwill, and obstination that led her to have a rather dim view of higher powers. Ironic then that this might be her greatest charm. She finally accepted after some cajoling.
Then without any preamble, me and Reila departed for a final three-month round trip across Golarion before moving on to new shores of reality.
And so, I took flight, ravens blessed with a green nimbus of Logic's divine majesty. Reila was still more comfortable as a digital entity so she did not mind my mode of travel. Mendeve and Numeria were of little interest to me so I went West and South. Staying out of the way and out of trouble was easy enough, my mantle of anonymity has only improved after Shadow's blessing to the point I found a trivial task to travel unmolested.
The river kingdoms were right up my alley, the influence of the First World over it made the place a tempting destination. Tenebrous Ustalav was basically Transylvania country, filled with gothic horrors from ghost stories. The Land of the Mammoth Lords lived up to its name, boring tundra aside from its prehistorical animals and dinosaurs and Hollow Earth subterranean biospheres. And of course, what are ravens if not curious and hungry? I made a point to sample fauna and flora and collect anything that caught my eye for storage in the dark corner where ravens keep their baubles. It was fun!
Life really is the same no matter where you travel. There was comfort in this. I was really looking forward to Osirion though. This land seemed to have a direct connection to Earth as it worshiped the very same Egyptian deities. Yet I ended up having a fateful encounter far sooner than I could anticipate.
Just after the Realm of the Mammoth Lords is Irrisen, the realm of permafrost governed by White Witches for over a millennium. Once part of the Lands of the Linnorm Kings, the witch Baba Yaga conquered it in the "war of 23 days" with an army of monsters who now habit it as its subjects. It's a land filled with winter-acclimated monsters like ice giants, trolls, winter court fey, and Skinwalker winter wolves capable of taking human forms. The only human subjects are direct descendants of the Witch Queen called Irrisens, other ethnic groups are serfs and slaves.
Strangely enough, I found myself liking Irrisen. Maybe it was a privilege of the strong but I found that while life was cruel and rash people weren't worse off than in the Miocene epoch filled with megafauna of the neighboring kingdom. Said that my virtuous heart spurred me to share a sparkle with the promising souls that dared to search for prosperity in such harsh homelands. Let's just write these off as fateful encounters. What is the worst that could happen?
If there was something that I did not care for in Irissen were its rules. There is no nice way to put it, every single one of them I came across was worthless. Petty tyrants reveling in the little power they had over others, from the smallest villages to the greatest cities. While the cruelty of fey and monsters came from their hunger or spirit, the witches were still mortal women who indulged in cruelty because they thought it was the only way to rule. But in the end, I found I did not care enough to do anything about it. I can only help those willing to help themselves. There are pockets of resistance and virtuous souls just waiting for a little push, but for the most part Irrisen was a perpetual motion machine. Baba Yaga left her daughter to rule as they pleased without her input or presence, only returning every one hundred years.
That is why I took flight off the beaten path and ended up having a fateful encounter of my own. A dangerous witch emanating magical aura I only found the likes in the greatest castles of the greatest cities of Irrisen. The sight of a crone foraging for ingredients deep in the fey woods shouldn't be unusual at all, especially this deep in witch country. Except it was!
There were so many unusual things about her I barely knew how to start. To begin with, there are more famous undead spellcasters in Golarion than old-looking ones. Humans are arrogant and proud creatures, a trait that only worsens when they learn to bend the laws of reality to their will. The faces of all infamous Thasilonian Rune Lords that ruled 6000 years ago are well known and they all looked like supermodels! The same holds true for the witches that govern this kingdom. Restoring the appearance of youth is easy enough, a transmutation spell even a novice can hold for hours, so the only old ladies I had seen in this country have been peasants and literal hags, as in the fey species that look like horrifying old crones.
Her attire too was not something a white witch would get caught dead wearing, a humble patchwork of fabrics sewed together by a sloppy hand instead of precious pelts or imported fabric fit for a queen. Yet the crone was indubitably an irrisean witch, one doing manual labor of all things instead of relying on a battalion of slaves for her every need! At first, I suspected her to be some exile but the more I watched the less this made sense. It bugged me to the point I decided to confront the witch – curiosity killed the cat but satisfaction brought it back, after all.
She did not turn the impertinent raven into a raven popsicle as I would have expected from a white witch. Instead, this reclusive arcanist with more power in one finger than most mortals will ever dream of holding decided to swear at me in such colorful words a sailor would have blushed. Like she was just what she appeared to be, a foul-tempered crone doing her daily chores. She was powerful but she did not bother to lord this over others. It was… refreshing.
Ever since I reached Golarion people had been either kissing my ass in search of my favor or regarding me as a threat or disruptive upstart. That crone genuinely did not care, for either of our standings. So I found myself drawn to her. I couldn't help but push my luck by pestering her. And to my luck, she turned out to be a formidable conversationist, more than willing to display her sharp tongue to anything in range.
To be sure, she came crocked from the cast. She was ill-tempered, bitter, and foul, nothing and no one seemed to be up to her standards. Be it Aroden, the living god or Tar Baphon, the Whispering Tyrant are all flawed under her crocked gaze. She also seemed to have spent too long among the fey, her mindset had become far from human, and the way she led conversations was meant to protect herself from threats few could scarcely understand. But I couldn't help but admire how she could treat a demigod the same way she would a vagabond down the gutter. Bakkahos would have liked to meet her.
In a sense, she reminded me of Socrates, the old ugly philosopher. Critical, bitter, and cynical but also a fountain of knowledge. And like the Gadfly, there was a method to her madness and quirks. To be precise, she was a brilliant and keen mind. Her slovenly appearance and behavior come from the belief that perfect symmetry and order in nature is something that does not exist. Witches are arcanists that rely on intellect to perform their craft, much like a sophic's rhetoric derives from Reason. Unlike the Gadfly she reveled in deceit and misdirection, which only made things more interesting. Plus, she made no effort to make me leave aside from enduring her company.
She was also a total weirdo who lived in an animated hut with chicken legs. I knew about them – dancing huts were regarded as the pinnacle of familiar magic among mortal spellcasters but despite being the literal flag of Irrisen they are rare. The rustic vibe clashes with the Frozen Ice Queen aesthetic that all White Witches favor. Added this to Irrisen's medieval structure… well, I have seen more frozen palaces sculped from perpetual ice than dancing huts, something Yanca is super defensive about.
And boy, wasn't that name something I had to pry out of her with force? After one week it didn't feel right to keep calling her granny. Yanca can easily weave a conversation such the other party will reveal everything about themselves while the other party ends up knowing even less than he did before they started the conversation with her. Which would be aggravating for most but I hardly could call myself a sophic if this was capable of deterring me. Especially when I needed something to distract myself from the disappointment that was Absalon.
Aroden's island in the sun, the Jewel of the Inner Sea, the half-stepped city that saw the ascension of four gods was an utter disappointment. It was the biggest city in the world and merchants from the most remote corners peddled their wares there. Countless abandoned siege engines and constructions of war from the numerous failed attempts throughout history to take the city by force lie scattered throughout the surrounding countryside in what has become known as the Cairnlands and the wreckage of armadas of unsuccessful attempts on the city from the sea all but block the wide harbor in a mass known as the Flotsam Graveyard… for a spelunking tourist trap! What is with these sour grapes?
In the end, I found myself more withdrawn. And paying more attention back to Irrisen even as most of me was cast adrift like the wind. Yanca's remote forest was nostalgic despite being unfamiliar, life there reminded me of my time as a grave keeper. There was always something menial task to be done and I had to earn my keep for Yanca's hospitality but the company wasn't bad… wasn't so bad… Yanca was something of an acquired taste, to be honest.
It wasn't home, but again, where was it? I had already lost any place to return from the beginning. For a long time, I thought Japan could be home, some of my best memories lay there but… it changed so much since the last I saw it. There is no Yuki to knock on my door and Tsumiki and Megumi are adults trailing their own paths. So much has happened since I last saw it that I fear finding myself adrift there. Because I was always a stranger there from the very beginning.
Yanca also felt much the same way as me, I could feel down in my bones. One night, after sharing some of the 'good stuff' that would cause Tsumiki to guilt trip me with puppy eyes wherever she saw me poisoning myself with, Yanca told me of her early life in an unusual bolt of nostalgia. Born from an unremarkable nomadic tribe, she one day left her camp to fetch water during a particularly rash winter. She stumbled across a deep cave with a hot spring at the bottom and there she had a fateful encounter with an ancient Norn, a fey associated with the Fates. The creature was owed by the powerful treads of fate around Yanca and decided to tutor her on the ways of magic.
Yanca reminisce with some bitterness that she was so impressed by the Norn's magic that she accepted her proposition within a heart's beat. Two long years had passed inside said cave before she realized her forgot her original task. She had been tricked, she tried to look for her tribe but they were nomads and life was rash and uncertain. They probably thought her dead and moved on. So without any other option, she committed her training as a witch. She grew comfortable leaving once she had become more powerful than her tutor and wandered all over her homeland.
Next came the bitterness of alienation. She wanted to learn magic to help her tribe because it was the natural thing to do in such primitive societies. Life was rash and everyone had to do their part and pull their weight. Helping each other was just the optimal survival strategy but such actions forged bonds that grounded a person, body, and soul. A sense of belonging that once lost can never be retrieved. She had tried, she admitted in the way one admits a terrible weakness.
People started to search her in search of her favor and help, and she, 'like a fool' she said, conceded. But those people no longer saw her as their own kin, there was a chasm that now alienated her from others. Her powers were something most people could not look past. She eventually grew tired of trying and disgusted with the length people scrapping at her doorsteps would sink to gain her favor. There was no place for her to return to and she fared no better in the First World or any other place she had ever tried. That is why she created her Dancing Hut so she could travel unimpeded – she is a wanderer just like me. This forest is just another place she temporarily holes herself when she doesn't want any company; a clear barb at my intrusion.
Of course, that is why I answered her by being even more of a bother! Constituting enough ravens to stand at my natural stature, which has grown to be 285 centimeters (9'3'' feet). I also made a point to occupy the same spaces I did as a raven, just to be more of an oaf. She certainly liked to complain but she never kicked me out or mentioned much about my appearance, safe that I would have to work more to pay for my stay. Not something that I minded, the work was meditative, grounding me and bringing me back to simpler times. Yanca also had much to teach if one was willing to put up with her.
Orision, Nex, and Geb were… amazing! Unlike any place I had ever seen. Certainly, more interesting than Cheliax and Taldor. Geb was a true undead nation filled with obsidian deserts only hospitable for the undead. Nex was a magecracy found by a corrupt but brilliant man and kept by his descendants. Both were linked to Orision, a corpse nation full of idiosyncrasies with more history than prospect for the future and yet I found myself enjoying it.
In a spur-of-the-moment decision I ended up making a move on Yanca. One night I returned the favor for her sincerity, telling for a second time in my life about Termina Festival and my eventful encounter with Rher. Yanca had her own form of compassion and forced me to move on from said heavy topic by being an exasperating gremlin. Our usual small talk resulted in our usual escalation and barb exchange when one topic led into another leading me to act out just to see if she would give.
I was expecting her to turn it into a challenge by keep herself in her crone form just to see if I would hesitate, but no. She resumed back to her maiden years without any fanfare, a literal blink of eyes. Like most natives of Irrisen she had Slavic features with snow-white hair, and like the stereotypical Russian woman, she looked like a supermodel that had aged like rotten fruit. Something I made a point to compliment her for. Lucky me then that she has a crass sense of humor. Most women wouldn't take well to be likened to an old pot tempered to make the best stow.
While these backhanded compliments were common fare to the two of us, she seemed to have had enough of my cheek, not that I minded her chosen means to shut me up. We exchanged a most deep discourse… it had been a while. For the both of us.
It became more and more clear why she elected to live in self-imposed isolation from the others of her kind. The appetite of Irrisen Witches for man's flesh is a thing of infamy. And like everything in Irrisen, it is a spectacle, a chance for them to show their primacy over their peers and superiority over their lessers. Stories of witches using magic to impersonate brides of comely grooms in their wedding days are the least of it, and the less we go over the details the better; the outcome of their affection is often just as tragic as their favor. They revel in cruelty, indulgence, excess, and vice, the coupling is almost secondary to proving themselves to be the queen bitch.
Yanca was a competent enough lover, honest and enthusiastic. It was simple and straightforward – she was just a woman, I was just a man, winters were cold and nights were long, and everything followed the course of nature. There were no pretense or power plays, her pride as a woman manifested in an ardent and playful passion that demanded attention and knew how to get it. She was down for anything at any time, something she didn't say with words but broadcasted by being a maiden more often than not. Her own form of bashfulness and her strength, the way she was so unapologetically woman to the core.
Yanca was a truly admirable woman, I found the more powerful someone is the more afraid they usually are of being vulnerable. She reveled in it, not being afraid of being afraid, of being exposed. This just made me want to reciprocate her gesture, it was not like either of us had anything to prove to anyone else. In all honesty, it was a stroke of luck she had been my first patterner since I became a hero. Even Yuki struggled to keep up back when I was mortal but between my new standing, mythical power, and the succubus queen quintessence… I don't know how the Father ever managed his affairs; mortal women are strictly off-limits. For their sake more than mine.
To begin with, Dionysus's foundational mystery grants a natural affinity to [Dual Cultivation], and my pursuit of performative excellence led me to refine my competence as a lover to the utmost limit with Yuki. A field I seem to have mastered, as it turned out even The Witch Queen is put through her passes; the only arena I am her match as well. That is how lucky I am.
Whatever magic Yanca had used to conceal her true standing from me could not stand a more profound investigation. Yanca was half a step from true divinity, basic deduction was all that I needed to figure out her true identity – a formerly mortal witch that had claimed a part of the First World as her domain, claiming a sparkle of divinity and ascending to become an Eldest like Shyka, the Many; Baba Yaga was infamous for refusing to embrace divinity due to her aversion of having people petering her for favors. Plus, this was technically her country. It would be expected to find her in Irrisen even if she was living in it as a pariah.
In the face of this revelation… I choose to look the other way. Yanca's reputation might have been as rotten as they come but – no one will ever truly know a thing until they've seen it for themselves – she has been nothing but hospitable and sincere. Inside that hut concealed by a freezing blizzard the outside world was inconsequential. Something both of us implicitly agreed to while we lost ourselves in each other's embrace.
My stay there was… good. Unexpected, but good. It was never meant to last, we both knew it from the get go. But that didn't mean it couldn't still be everlasting for as long as it endured. In that place where time seemed to be suspended and cut off from the world, we only had each other for company and entertainment.
My unkindness allowed me to keep half an eye on Golarion yet the brunt of my interest was on Yanca. She could see and interact with my divine daemon alter ego and though she had no interest or appetite for the female form I realized it was nice to have someone to converse with my fairer side. Yanca's own resistances fell one by one as she stopped bothering with concealing her sorcerous workings, letting me peek at secrets people had died and murdered for. Her way to show off, she seems to appreciate an audience capable of keeping up with her. As if arcane secrets were just tokens for our intellectual games.
I felt nostalgic enough to return to my handyman ways when I acted as a jack of all trades in that secluded village. The Dancing Hut was like a cosmic warehouse, some would call a super dungeon, and for all of Yanca's gifts, there were some things that needed a man's firm touch. She harped incessantly about it but yet she was too much of a hick to not appreciate artisanal endeavors. There was always something to be fixed or mended that she had put off for later and then forgotten. It was genuinely sad, like those cases of neglected elderly people seen in tv shows.
After I had done all that she would allow, I moved on to brush off my sewing and jewelry crafting. I am familiar enough with Dionysus to realize that Yanca walks around as an unassuming crone for the same kicks my patron disguises himself as a beggar. She doesn't reject beauty, this is a false impression derived from the fact she is still the same nomadic tribe woman at heart, distaining the ostentatious trappings of sedentary civilization and snubbing those who consider her their peer and equal. But she still was too womanly to not indulge in vanity when it did strike her fancy and lived to her standards. Her tastes reflected that – her favored ornaments were to be made from local materials such as semi-precious stones, ivory, to even shells; as if the effort and dedication of making beauty from what is readily accessible and available is what make something beautiful.
Her taste in dresses was similar. We butted heads for a long time as my Greekness led them to be too… pooch for her taste. At some point, it became a matter of pride for me to hit the sweet spot that would please both our sensibilities. Infuriatingly, there was always a point to her criticism and the lesson she wanted to convey. It was her way to pass on to me the essence of witchcraft – entropy had a way of bringing all man-made things down, nature always had the last laughter over human conceit and witches were those capable of weaving nature's caprices to their will.
It took a lot of effort but I finally managed to get it, the true essence of witchcraft. The final product was a fabric unlike anything I had ever seen, it was like I had captured the eternal briskness of nature, a mosaic so vivid and spontaneous it almost seemed to jump to life. Yanca then congratulated me on becoming a proper witch (to her standard) through her typical backhanded comment that this was only possible because I was a fruitcake.
Fortunately for the two of us, I had enough context to understand what she meant through the lens of my own culture – Argyrchiara was the actualized manifestation of my Anima, the reintegrated feminine aspects of my psyche (soul). This was an echo of a Golden Age, before the Father cleaved humanity's soul in half, and humanity lived like gods without sorrow of heart, remote and free from toil and grief, fruitful earth unforced bare them fruit abundantly and without stint. Witchcraft is a fundamentally feminine craft… questions for later.
What mattered was that with this breakthrough I managed to make wonders that rivaled Arachne: navy blue skirts that danced like a piece of the sea, verdant stamps evoking enchanted forests, modest brow pants that smelled of morning dew, and wine-dark indigo cloak more riveting than any crown.
Yanca was genuinely captivated by my gifts. The way she admired and laughed like a little girl while experiencing it was mesmerizing to watch. It was the kind of joy that came from the heart. To her, these dresses and gifts were like a window to bygone times, when joy came easy and companionship was a fact of life. I could almost see it in my mind's eye, Yanca mingling among other women of her tribe, gushing over some trinket made of seashells held together by tendon string. An ephemeral flash of a golden bright cast memory thought to be long forgotten and forever lost.
The sincere desire for the prosperity of others, to alleviate their toil, war, and suffering. The Son who will make mortals forget their troubles, and bring forth joy for gods and men. Moments like these are what make me remember why I took his name. Why I live every day to be worthy of my name. Before being Baba Yaga, the Witch Queen, or Great Crone, Yanca was first and foremost Yanca, and it was high time someone reminded her of it. For how long did she wait for anyone who would give her something so simple? If only she had been a thousand years and I a thousand years earlier…then perhaps…
Yanca might be stubborn but she still was a lonely genius, she appreciated having someone both intelligent and mad enough to follow her trail of thoughts regarding her craft. I certainly felt like Plato recording, compiling, and presenting her process of natural philosophy in digestive format. Because one needed to be mad to understand how a dry chicken foot, some woo, and a careful combination of herbs could allow Yanca to teleport her mobile home to another planet. It's completely unlike the almost scientific approach Areelu because it is a methodology of thought that preceded it. Irrisen actually had deep culture if one bothered to shuffle under the streets made of bones.
Unfortunately, good times never last. Yanca was like my Calypso but like Odysseus I had a journey to finish. Cultivators don't retire, as men of principle, we are compelled by the virtue in our souls to dare tread the perilous climb up Olympus Mons. We have nothing but time yet we cannot ever stop, for to betray the virtues and principles that elevated us so high and walk off the path of ascension is the same as forsaking oneself.
We departed on good terms. Yanca accepted the news without any fanfare or drama. Shrugged her shoulder and told me she would keep my room for the next time we met, if I survived that long that is. Her tsundere impression was so cute I could not leave without giving her a big goodbye kiss, which she complained all the way through but acquiesced to.
I visited many famous sights of Golarion that bright-eyed youth join the Pathfinder Society for: underworld caves housing Jurassic biomes, jungles habited by sapient monkeys, necropolis where the dead and living share the streets. Golarion certainly is a mad house but I can't say that I disliked it. I shared Prometheus' sparkle around after all.
But I still have medium and long-term plans to take care of. It's a shame I speed-ran my way through my Epic but part of me can't be surprised by this outcome. The rate at which I fucked around and found out was indeed epic in proportion, I should be dead. But now that my immediate problems have been solved and Reila built a rapport with me, she was finally comfortable dropping a bomb in my lap.
Like an event horizon, the Nightmare of Termina Festival is suspended waiting for one's arrival. My return. In hindsight, it was obvious. The god of Fear and Hunger ascended when the nameless girl reached the corpse of the God of the Deep. The new is born from the old – Logic is like a butterfly trapped in her chrysalis. Rher who so fanatically obstructed her birth ended up setting himself up as the sacrificial lamb to her- our ascension. We are twins, after all. We are born together as a matter of course.
I have a fateful encounter ahead. Success or failure, I have dedicated my life to opposing Rher, there is no way I would pass up the opportunity to some good old deicide. I can already see it, the peak! The fact I have to kill Rher to get there is more like a gift that keeps on giving them an obstacle. He alone is the one god I will never forgive.
I gathered my scattered influence, donned the pocket cat mantle, and strapped my sister's AI core to my waist. Being as prepared and refreshed as I can get, I resume my mad wandering, embarking on the forked path of the Dream labyrinth, the backroom. The dream dimension intersects all of time and space. It was time to search for new shores to explore.
The strongest isekai in history versus the strongest isekai of today, everyone! I bet when I said Baba Yaga, the turbo overdrive planar crone of doom, would appear that none of you saw this coming. Shame on you! Of course she could become a hot Russian baby on demand. That is like, a second level spell they learn by level 3. Plus, Baba Yaga is canonically a factory of super models, none of her daughters ever scored less than an eight in both the hot and crazy scale!
This chapter was mostly illustrative, because as you know, moderators of these forums are prude nerds happy to bring down the hammer into any story portraying relationship that advances past hand holding. As far as the moderators are concerned writing mature topics is a privilege, not a right, and the reserve the right to decide what is acceptable depending on the hour of the day. Even the smallest displays of affection in an adult relationship have gotten me in trouble before, I am avoiding even saying triggering words so unfortunately you have to keep most of it to the imagination. But hey, at least now you people know Zagreus type! Between Yuki, Areelu, and Yanca he is three for three!
It was fun to write about their relationship, had they met under any other circumstance they would be at each other's throat. But when left to their own device they are kind of alike. Yanca doesn't value power, stubbornly exiting at the precipice of godhood because having people bothering her for favors annoys and disgusts her. Having her live as a recluse in the country she conquered show how alienated she is from everyone else. At her core she still the same simple woman that went out to get water and ended being left behind by her tribe. Yanca and Zagreus are just two losers feeling depressed and sorry for themselves and bonding over it, despite being counted among the movers and shakers of reality.
The fact she is the first recorded Earth Isekai only make this funnier, her sense of morals are very much B.C. oriented. If all those isekais can go around colonizing and founding countries, what is the problem when she does it? Columbus is the average earthling, not the exception!
Said that, her involvement in the plot will be indirect one. Prepare yourself for the rise of Tanya the 'Kind'! A young woman's adventure in Frozen Game of Thrones! Because a daughter of two isekay protagonists will definitely also be an Isekai! Not going to lie, this idea came to me when I saw a queen of Irrisen gained the epithet of "the kind" after she made economic reforms to improve the economic condition of her provinces.
Our favorite atheist gender bended corporation mascot will have to content being the love child of two Tyrants realm cultivators. Because this is a plot that will only unfold by the time Zagreus have entered it. So it will take a while. By the way, yes. Since Yanca is still human she quality for Prometheus's spark. In her case she isn't getting stronger so much as her immense power is being organized in a structured fashion. Instead of sophic, heroic and tyrant realms, Irrisen has Maiden, Mother, and Crone Realms. Tanya will be dual class too, like her apa (Greek for papa)!
Ascending to heaven, climbing Olympus Mons, meant bridging the gap between mortality and divinity with understanding. And Greek cultivators hold one maxim above all else – as above, so bellow. The Greek perspective and foundational conceit were that a man's external reality mirrored his internal reality like an Ouroboros – virtue displayed as performative excellence.
Where one begins and the other ends is a subsequent assessment to be made after one has grasped it, some would argue. Fools that is. In a sense, it could even be said that cultivation is a matter of structure. The things one puts into one's body will make up its physical structure. The same is also true of the soul on a metaphysical scale. 'You are what you eat.'
The Greeks desired beauty of self, order over chaos, and so they also imposed that beauty and order on the world outside of themselves, surrounding and submerging themselves in it. That is why Greater Mysteries hold so much value - by tempering the soul under the natural mystery of the greatest order Olympus itself is within reach. The end goal of cultivation is to refine the lowly human being into an existence comparable to a god by mimicking and internalizing its virtue. Its excellence.
In this respect, my country stands as an island in the sun beyond reproach. I have no doubt in my mind that even the most arrogant true born scions of greater mystery cults of the free Mediterranean would not hesitate in recognizing Sarokis as a found piece of our faith's mangled mosaic and fight to the death to claim it the 'barbarian' kellids I had gifted it to.
I had truly lived up to my name… and yet my cup still tasted bitter. Is that what Bakkahos felt? The end was not to my satisfaction. For reasons beyond count but the fact they elude me the moment I try to tackle them into a comprehensive list only sour my cup further. I am not a perfectionist, but be sure, that doesn't mean I couldn't have done better. Should I have been more ambitious after all and risked it all? Maybe this is a byproduct of relief, the whit furiously striking my back since I landed in Numeria up to when I saw Areelu depart has finally calmed down. I did my best, it might have not been good enough, but I am only human. Arrogance has always been just a theatrical indulgence on my part.
But now it was time to face the future. Starting with the fact I have no intention of returning to Japan. Hell! Let's be honest, if Argyrchiara could receive faith power from people back on earth and grant them divine magic then I could have used this as a link to get back home… eventually. The fact she did not offer and I never tried shows that I was running away to some extent.
I also have no interest in ruling over Argyrchiara Sarkoris. If I put my back on it, I can turn any land into a silver bright wonder. It was fun but I don't have much attachment to the place itself as the Worldwound had been a hell hole. The same cannot be said for the people though. I can scarcely tolerate to see them go. The same way to the people back on Earth.
I guess home is where the heart is. There is this restlessness within me, I always have been someone who thinks with my feet and I wish to keep marching on. But I also refuse to abandon the bonds I have forged through my travels. Fortunately, I had the means to make that unreasonable request somewhat viable.
That is why I gave my best shot at this whole Divine Founder thing, passing down edicts and orientations to how government, politics, and religion are to be run in Sarkoris. Something I actually have experience in since Ba Sing Se and helping the Avatar reorganize the world order after the One Hundred Years War. While I never imagined myself as a master of statecraft, Aang visited me regularly for guidance and considering I was living in Wan Shi Tong's Library I had ample access to historical records to give Ang a ample perspective of his options. This was only perfect in my tenure in the bloody politics of jujutsu sorcerers, to the point I can today claim with confidence that I know what I am doing.
I split the territory is provinces, mapping the territory that is to be conserved, the layout of future roads, and the locations of city-states (Polis) that are to be erected. I honored the most nondecorated generals with the right to govern, the greatest soldiers with nobility as proof of their excellence, conferred the druids with tutelage and stewardship of the land, and gave the Order of the Claw the recognition to act as an impartial police force to any institution that requires its assistance. In the end, it was a mix of republican Rome led by senator generals, Greek fractured polis with a Macedonia Empire-like identity.
The vestiges of the ordinary cosmopolitan citizen of a democratic state in me have some concerns about such a retrograde model, but nobles here literally have mythical power granted by yours truly. Men were not made equal the moment cultivation entered the equation. It was more a matter of acknowledging people's standing and organizing things so they don't implode the moment I turn my back on it. I even gave the Hellknights some artificial intelligence artifacts capable of tracking down social trends in an effort to curb their zealotry toward more productive endeavors.
Much like in the One Hundred Years War, the people of Golarion lost their appetite for combat after fighting demons for one century. Even I am tired of the fight, to be honest.
That is why I reached for my friends once things were settled and offered them my underworld pass. Considering Panaka was technically condemned to the Abyss after fusing himself with the plane, he opted to accept my gift. Arueshalae, who defied her demonic origin and recasted herself as an azata of the Elysium also accepted since 'her Panaka was her Elysium' (yes, they are the cutest couple). While those already sworn to another deity like Seelah and Sosiel shot me down, Nenio, Regill, Woljif, and Lan accepted. Even Daeran, the closest thing to militant atheist this world has to offer, accepted the moment he learned the afterlife is a perpetual bacchanal, the party animal that he was. The most reluctant one was Ember, she had that dangerous mix of naivety, goodwill, and obstination that led her to have a rather dim view of higher powers. Ironic then that this might be her greatest charm. She finally accepted after some cajoling.
Then without any preamble, me and Reila departed for a final three-month round trip across Golarion before moving on to new shores of reality.
-//-
Of course, while I intend to stay away from any more world-ending plots for the remainder of my stay, this doesn't mean I intend to speed run my way through the countries of the inner sea like someone perusing a traveling catalog. My station allows me to cheat a little bit. As an unkindness-that-flights, I can cover a lot of ground in little time. While spreading my influence like this would be unthinkable during the crusade, I no longer have to fear mythical demons breathing down my neck. If a place interested me enough, I can create a human body for myself with up to ten ravens.
And so, I took flight, ravens blessed with a green nimbus of Logic's divine majesty. Reila was still more comfortable as a digital entity so she did not mind my mode of travel. Mendeve and Numeria were of little interest to me so I went West and South. Staying out of the way and out of trouble was easy enough, my mantle of anonymity has only improved after Shadow's blessing to the point I found a trivial task to travel unmolested.
The river kingdoms were right up my alley, the influence of the First World over it made the place a tempting destination. Tenebrous Ustalav was basically Transylvania country, filled with gothic horrors from ghost stories. The Land of the Mammoth Lords lived up to its name, boring tundra aside from its prehistorical animals and dinosaurs and Hollow Earth subterranean biospheres. And of course, what are ravens if not curious and hungry? I made a point to sample fauna and flora and collect anything that caught my eye for storage in the dark corner where ravens keep their baubles. It was fun!
Life really is the same no matter where you travel. There was comfort in this. I was really looking forward to Osirion though. This land seemed to have a direct connection to Earth as it worshiped the very same Egyptian deities. Yet I ended up having a fateful encounter far sooner than I could anticipate.
Just after the Realm of the Mammoth Lords is Irrisen, the realm of permafrost governed by White Witches for over a millennium. Once part of the Lands of the Linnorm Kings, the witch Baba Yaga conquered it in the "war of 23 days" with an army of monsters who now habit it as its subjects. It's a land filled with winter-acclimated monsters like ice giants, trolls, winter court fey, and Skinwalker winter wolves capable of taking human forms. The only human subjects are direct descendants of the Witch Queen called Irrisens, other ethnic groups are serfs and slaves.
Strangely enough, I found myself liking Irrisen. Maybe it was a privilege of the strong but I found that while life was cruel and rash people weren't worse off than in the Miocene epoch filled with megafauna of the neighboring kingdom. Said that my virtuous heart spurred me to share a sparkle with the promising souls that dared to search for prosperity in such harsh homelands. Let's just write these off as fateful encounters. What is the worst that could happen?
If there was something that I did not care for in Irissen were its rules. There is no nice way to put it, every single one of them I came across was worthless. Petty tyrants reveling in the little power they had over others, from the smallest villages to the greatest cities. While the cruelty of fey and monsters came from their hunger or spirit, the witches were still mortal women who indulged in cruelty because they thought it was the only way to rule. But in the end, I found I did not care enough to do anything about it. I can only help those willing to help themselves. There are pockets of resistance and virtuous souls just waiting for a little push, but for the most part Irrisen was a perpetual motion machine. Baba Yaga left her daughter to rule as they pleased without her input or presence, only returning every one hundred years.
That is why I took flight off the beaten path and ended up having a fateful encounter of my own. A dangerous witch emanating magical aura I only found the likes in the greatest castles of the greatest cities of Irrisen. The sight of a crone foraging for ingredients deep in the fey woods shouldn't be unusual at all, especially this deep in witch country. Except it was!
There were so many unusual things about her I barely knew how to start. To begin with, there are more famous undead spellcasters in Golarion than old-looking ones. Humans are arrogant and proud creatures, a trait that only worsens when they learn to bend the laws of reality to their will. The faces of all infamous Thasilonian Rune Lords that ruled 6000 years ago are well known and they all looked like supermodels! The same holds true for the witches that govern this kingdom. Restoring the appearance of youth is easy enough, a transmutation spell even a novice can hold for hours, so the only old ladies I had seen in this country have been peasants and literal hags, as in the fey species that look like horrifying old crones.
Her attire too was not something a white witch would get caught dead wearing, a humble patchwork of fabrics sewed together by a sloppy hand instead of precious pelts or imported fabric fit for a queen. Yet the crone was indubitably an irrisean witch, one doing manual labor of all things instead of relying on a battalion of slaves for her every need! At first, I suspected her to be some exile but the more I watched the less this made sense. It bugged me to the point I decided to confront the witch – curiosity killed the cat but satisfaction brought it back, after all.
She did not turn the impertinent raven into a raven popsicle as I would have expected from a white witch. Instead, this reclusive arcanist with more power in one finger than most mortals will ever dream of holding decided to swear at me in such colorful words a sailor would have blushed. Like she was just what she appeared to be, a foul-tempered crone doing her daily chores. She was powerful but she did not bother to lord this over others. It was… refreshing.
Ever since I reached Golarion people had been either kissing my ass in search of my favor or regarding me as a threat or disruptive upstart. That crone genuinely did not care, for either of our standings. So I found myself drawn to her. I couldn't help but push my luck by pestering her. And to my luck, she turned out to be a formidable conversationist, more than willing to display her sharp tongue to anything in range.
To be sure, she came crocked from the cast. She was ill-tempered, bitter, and foul, nothing and no one seemed to be up to her standards. Be it Aroden, the living god or Tar Baphon, the Whispering Tyrant are all flawed under her crocked gaze. She also seemed to have spent too long among the fey, her mindset had become far from human, and the way she led conversations was meant to protect herself from threats few could scarcely understand. But I couldn't help but admire how she could treat a demigod the same way she would a vagabond down the gutter. Bakkahos would have liked to meet her.
In a sense, she reminded me of Socrates, the old ugly philosopher. Critical, bitter, and cynical but also a fountain of knowledge. And like the Gadfly, there was a method to her madness and quirks. To be precise, she was a brilliant and keen mind. Her slovenly appearance and behavior come from the belief that perfect symmetry and order in nature is something that does not exist. Witches are arcanists that rely on intellect to perform their craft, much like a sophic's rhetoric derives from Reason. Unlike the Gadfly she reveled in deceit and misdirection, which only made things more interesting. Plus, she made no effort to make me leave aside from enduring her company.
She was also a total weirdo who lived in an animated hut with chicken legs. I knew about them – dancing huts were regarded as the pinnacle of familiar magic among mortal spellcasters but despite being the literal flag of Irrisen they are rare. The rustic vibe clashes with the Frozen Ice Queen aesthetic that all White Witches favor. Added this to Irrisen's medieval structure… well, I have seen more frozen palaces sculped from perpetual ice than dancing huts, something Yanca is super defensive about.
And boy, wasn't that name something I had to pry out of her with force? After one week it didn't feel right to keep calling her granny. Yanca can easily weave a conversation such the other party will reveal everything about themselves while the other party ends up knowing even less than he did before they started the conversation with her. Which would be aggravating for most but I hardly could call myself a sophic if this was capable of deterring me. Especially when I needed something to distract myself from the disappointment that was Absalon.
Aroden's island in the sun, the Jewel of the Inner Sea, the half-stepped city that saw the ascension of four gods was an utter disappointment. It was the biggest city in the world and merchants from the most remote corners peddled their wares there. Countless abandoned siege engines and constructions of war from the numerous failed attempts throughout history to take the city by force lie scattered throughout the surrounding countryside in what has become known as the Cairnlands and the wreckage of armadas of unsuccessful attempts on the city from the sea all but block the wide harbor in a mass known as the Flotsam Graveyard… for a spelunking tourist trap! What is with these sour grapes?
In the end, I found myself more withdrawn. And paying more attention back to Irrisen even as most of me was cast adrift like the wind. Yanca's remote forest was nostalgic despite being unfamiliar, life there reminded me of my time as a grave keeper. There was always something menial task to be done and I had to earn my keep for Yanca's hospitality but the company wasn't bad… wasn't so bad… Yanca was something of an acquired taste, to be honest.
It wasn't home, but again, where was it? I had already lost any place to return from the beginning. For a long time, I thought Japan could be home, some of my best memories lay there but… it changed so much since the last I saw it. There is no Yuki to knock on my door and Tsumiki and Megumi are adults trailing their own paths. So much has happened since I last saw it that I fear finding myself adrift there. Because I was always a stranger there from the very beginning.
I will forever be a foreigner wherever I go, whether I accept this now or never at all makes no difference.
Gods, I certainly feel pitiful, such behavior is unbecoming of a hero. But in truth, this is my true self. After Yuki left, Megumi and Tsumiki often went out of their way to pull me out of these funks, but now they are realities away so there is nobody to save me from these bolts of melancholy. In a sense, it felt like I belonged here in that forgotten corner beyond where anyone bothered to go, like a log being carried down by the current. No. Like refuse adrift in the open sea, being carried to the shore of an Island in the Sun. A closed-off world.
Yanca also felt much the same way as me, I could feel down in my bones. One night, after sharing some of the 'good stuff' that would cause Tsumiki to guilt trip me with puppy eyes wherever she saw me poisoning myself with, Yanca told me of her early life in an unusual bolt of nostalgia. Born from an unremarkable nomadic tribe, she one day left her camp to fetch water during a particularly rash winter. She stumbled across a deep cave with a hot spring at the bottom and there she had a fateful encounter with an ancient Norn, a fey associated with the Fates. The creature was owed by the powerful treads of fate around Yanca and decided to tutor her on the ways of magic.
Yanca reminisce with some bitterness that she was so impressed by the Norn's magic that she accepted her proposition within a heart's beat. Two long years had passed inside said cave before she realized her forgot her original task. She had been tricked, she tried to look for her tribe but they were nomads and life was rash and uncertain. They probably thought her dead and moved on. So without any other option, she committed her training as a witch. She grew comfortable leaving once she had become more powerful than her tutor and wandered all over her homeland.
Next came the bitterness of alienation. She wanted to learn magic to help her tribe because it was the natural thing to do in such primitive societies. Life was rash and everyone had to do their part and pull their weight. Helping each other was just the optimal survival strategy but such actions forged bonds that grounded a person, body, and soul. A sense of belonging that once lost can never be retrieved. She had tried, she admitted in the way one admits a terrible weakness.
People started to search her in search of her favor and help, and she, 'like a fool' she said, conceded. But those people no longer saw her as their own kin, there was a chasm that now alienated her from others. Her powers were something most people could not look past. She eventually grew tired of trying and disgusted with the length people scrapping at her doorsteps would sink to gain her favor. There was no place for her to return to and she fared no better in the First World or any other place she had ever tried. That is why she created her Dancing Hut so she could travel unimpeded – she is a wanderer just like me. This forest is just another place she temporarily holes herself when she doesn't want any company; a clear barb at my intrusion.
Of course, that is why I answered her by being even more of a bother! Constituting enough ravens to stand at my natural stature, which has grown to be 285 centimeters (9'3'' feet). I also made a point to occupy the same spaces I did as a raven, just to be more of an oaf. She certainly liked to complain but she never kicked me out or mentioned much about my appearance, safe that I would have to work more to pay for my stay. Not something that I minded, the work was meditative, grounding me and bringing me back to simpler times. Yanca also had much to teach if one was willing to put up with her.
Orision, Nex, and Geb were… amazing! Unlike any place I had ever seen. Certainly, more interesting than Cheliax and Taldor. Geb was a true undead nation filled with obsidian deserts only hospitable for the undead. Nex was a magecracy found by a corrupt but brilliant man and kept by his descendants. Both were linked to Orision, a corpse nation full of idiosyncrasies with more history than prospect for the future and yet I found myself enjoying it.
In a spur-of-the-moment decision I ended up making a move on Yanca. One night I returned the favor for her sincerity, telling for a second time in my life about Termina Festival and my eventful encounter with Rher. Yanca had her own form of compassion and forced me to move on from said heavy topic by being an exasperating gremlin. Our usual small talk resulted in our usual escalation and barb exchange when one topic led into another leading me to act out just to see if she would give.
I was expecting her to turn it into a challenge by keep herself in her crone form just to see if I would hesitate, but no. She resumed back to her maiden years without any fanfare, a literal blink of eyes. Like most natives of Irrisen she had Slavic features with snow-white hair, and like the stereotypical Russian woman, she looked like a supermodel that had aged like rotten fruit. Something I made a point to compliment her for. Lucky me then that she has a crass sense of humor. Most women wouldn't take well to be likened to an old pot tempered to make the best stow.
While these backhanded compliments were common fare to the two of us, she seemed to have had enough of my cheek, not that I minded her chosen means to shut me up. We exchanged a most deep discourse… it had been a while. For the both of us.
It became more and more clear why she elected to live in self-imposed isolation from the others of her kind. The appetite of Irrisen Witches for man's flesh is a thing of infamy. And like everything in Irrisen, it is a spectacle, a chance for them to show their primacy over their peers and superiority over their lessers. Stories of witches using magic to impersonate brides of comely grooms in their wedding days are the least of it, and the less we go over the details the better; the outcome of their affection is often just as tragic as their favor. They revel in cruelty, indulgence, excess, and vice, the coupling is almost secondary to proving themselves to be the queen bitch.
Yanca was a competent enough lover, honest and enthusiastic. It was simple and straightforward – she was just a woman, I was just a man, winters were cold and nights were long, and everything followed the course of nature. There were no pretense or power plays, her pride as a woman manifested in an ardent and playful passion that demanded attention and knew how to get it. She was down for anything at any time, something she didn't say with words but broadcasted by being a maiden more often than not. Her own form of bashfulness and her strength, the way she was so unapologetically woman to the core.
Yanca was a truly admirable woman, I found the more powerful someone is the more afraid they usually are of being vulnerable. She reveled in it, not being afraid of being afraid, of being exposed. This just made me want to reciprocate her gesture, it was not like either of us had anything to prove to anyone else. In all honesty, it was a stroke of luck she had been my first patterner since I became a hero. Even Yuki struggled to keep up back when I was mortal but between my new standing, mythical power, and the succubus queen quintessence… I don't know how the Father ever managed his affairs; mortal women are strictly off-limits. For their sake more than mine.
To begin with, Dionysus's foundational mystery grants a natural affinity to [Dual Cultivation], and my pursuit of performative excellence led me to refine my competence as a lover to the utmost limit with Yuki. A field I seem to have mastered, as it turned out even The Witch Queen is put through her passes; the only arena I am her match as well. That is how lucky I am.
Whatever magic Yanca had used to conceal her true standing from me could not stand a more profound investigation. Yanca was half a step from true divinity, basic deduction was all that I needed to figure out her true identity – a formerly mortal witch that had claimed a part of the First World as her domain, claiming a sparkle of divinity and ascending to become an Eldest like Shyka, the Many; Baba Yaga was infamous for refusing to embrace divinity due to her aversion of having people petering her for favors. Plus, this was technically her country. It would be expected to find her in Irrisen even if she was living in it as a pariah.
In the face of this revelation… I choose to look the other way. Yanca's reputation might have been as rotten as they come but – no one will ever truly know a thing until they've seen it for themselves – she has been nothing but hospitable and sincere. Inside that hut concealed by a freezing blizzard the outside world was inconsequential. Something both of us implicitly agreed to while we lost ourselves in each other's embrace.
My stay there was… good. Unexpected, but good. It was never meant to last, we both knew it from the get go. But that didn't mean it couldn't still be everlasting for as long as it endured. In that place where time seemed to be suspended and cut off from the world, we only had each other for company and entertainment.
My unkindness allowed me to keep half an eye on Golarion yet the brunt of my interest was on Yanca. She could see and interact with my divine daemon alter ego and though she had no interest or appetite for the female form I realized it was nice to have someone to converse with my fairer side. Yanca's own resistances fell one by one as she stopped bothering with concealing her sorcerous workings, letting me peek at secrets people had died and murdered for. Her way to show off, she seems to appreciate an audience capable of keeping up with her. As if arcane secrets were just tokens for our intellectual games.
I felt nostalgic enough to return to my handyman ways when I acted as a jack of all trades in that secluded village. The Dancing Hut was like a cosmic warehouse, some would call a super dungeon, and for all of Yanca's gifts, there were some things that needed a man's firm touch. She harped incessantly about it but yet she was too much of a hick to not appreciate artisanal endeavors. There was always something to be fixed or mended that she had put off for later and then forgotten. It was genuinely sad, like those cases of neglected elderly people seen in tv shows.
After I had done all that she would allow, I moved on to brush off my sewing and jewelry crafting. I am familiar enough with Dionysus to realize that Yanca walks around as an unassuming crone for the same kicks my patron disguises himself as a beggar. She doesn't reject beauty, this is a false impression derived from the fact she is still the same nomadic tribe woman at heart, distaining the ostentatious trappings of sedentary civilization and snubbing those who consider her their peer and equal. But she still was too womanly to not indulge in vanity when it did strike her fancy and lived to her standards. Her tastes reflected that – her favored ornaments were to be made from local materials such as semi-precious stones, ivory, to even shells; as if the effort and dedication of making beauty from what is readily accessible and available is what make something beautiful.
Her taste in dresses was similar. We butted heads for a long time as my Greekness led them to be too… pooch for her taste. At some point, it became a matter of pride for me to hit the sweet spot that would please both our sensibilities. Infuriatingly, there was always a point to her criticism and the lesson she wanted to convey. It was her way to pass on to me the essence of witchcraft – entropy had a way of bringing all man-made things down, nature always had the last laughter over human conceit and witches were those capable of weaving nature's caprices to their will.
It took a lot of effort but I finally managed to get it, the true essence of witchcraft. The final product was a fabric unlike anything I had ever seen, it was like I had captured the eternal briskness of nature, a mosaic so vivid and spontaneous it almost seemed to jump to life. Yanca then congratulated me on becoming a proper witch (to her standard) through her typical backhanded comment that this was only possible because I was a fruitcake.
Fortunately for the two of us, I had enough context to understand what she meant through the lens of my own culture – Argyrchiara was the actualized manifestation of my Anima, the reintegrated feminine aspects of my psyche (soul). This was an echo of a Golden Age, before the Father cleaved humanity's soul in half, and humanity lived like gods without sorrow of heart, remote and free from toil and grief, fruitful earth unforced bare them fruit abundantly and without stint. Witchcraft is a fundamentally feminine craft… questions for later.
What mattered was that with this breakthrough I managed to make wonders that rivaled Arachne: navy blue skirts that danced like a piece of the sea, verdant stamps evoking enchanted forests, modest brow pants that smelled of morning dew, and wine-dark indigo cloak more riveting than any crown.
Yanca was genuinely captivated by my gifts. The way she admired and laughed like a little girl while experiencing it was mesmerizing to watch. It was the kind of joy that came from the heart. To her, these dresses and gifts were like a window to bygone times, when joy came easy and companionship was a fact of life. I could almost see it in my mind's eye, Yanca mingling among other women of her tribe, gushing over some trinket made of seashells held together by tendon string. An ephemeral flash of a golden bright cast memory thought to be long forgotten and forever lost.
The sincere desire for the prosperity of others, to alleviate their toil, war, and suffering. The Son who will make mortals forget their troubles, and bring forth joy for gods and men. Moments like these are what make me remember why I took his name. Why I live every day to be worthy of my name. Before being Baba Yaga, the Witch Queen, or Great Crone, Yanca was first and foremost Yanca, and it was high time someone reminded her of it. For how long did she wait for anyone who would give her something so simple? If only she had been a thousand years and I a thousand years earlier…then perhaps…
-//-
I realized we both got more involved than we owed to when a new door manifested on the hut. A small studio for me to do with as I pleased. For such a pedantic person that was a kingly concession. Welcome too, I was meant to put some ideas to paper. The art of calligraphy is something Yanca held some disdain for but she stopped pestering me when I mentioned it was another thing she had in common with the Gadfly. My virtuous books capable of imparting excellence to readers is something I have been working on and perfecting for over two decades now, but I found there is always some room to improve. Now that things were less hectic, I could put in some new work.
Yanca might be stubborn but she still was a lonely genius, she appreciated having someone both intelligent and mad enough to follow her trail of thoughts regarding her craft. I certainly felt like Plato recording, compiling, and presenting her process of natural philosophy in digestive format. Because one needed to be mad to understand how a dry chicken foot, some woo, and a careful combination of herbs could allow Yanca to teleport her mobile home to another planet. It's completely unlike the almost scientific approach Areelu because it is a methodology of thought that preceded it. Irrisen actually had deep culture if one bothered to shuffle under the streets made of bones.
Unfortunately, good times never last. Yanca was like my Calypso but like Odysseus I had a journey to finish. Cultivators don't retire, as men of principle, we are compelled by the virtue in our souls to dare tread the perilous climb up Olympus Mons. We have nothing but time yet we cannot ever stop, for to betray the virtues and principles that elevated us so high and walk off the path of ascension is the same as forsaking oneself.
We departed on good terms. Yanca accepted the news without any fanfare or drama. Shrugged her shoulder and told me she would keep my room for the next time we met, if I survived that long that is. Her tsundere impression was so cute I could not leave without giving her a big goodbye kiss, which she complained all the way through but acquiesced to.
I visited many famous sights of Golarion that bright-eyed youth join the Pathfinder Society for: underworld caves housing Jurassic biomes, jungles habited by sapient monkeys, necropolis where the dead and living share the streets. Golarion certainly is a mad house but I can't say that I disliked it. I shared Prometheus' sparkle around after all.
But I still have medium and long-term plans to take care of. It's a shame I speed-ran my way through my Epic but part of me can't be surprised by this outcome. The rate at which I fucked around and found out was indeed epic in proportion, I should be dead. But now that my immediate problems have been solved and Reila built a rapport with me, she was finally comfortable dropping a bomb in my lap.
Like an event horizon, the Nightmare of Termina Festival is suspended waiting for one's arrival. My return. In hindsight, it was obvious. The god of Fear and Hunger ascended when the nameless girl reached the corpse of the God of the Deep. The new is born from the old – Logic is like a butterfly trapped in her chrysalis. Rher who so fanatically obstructed her birth ended up setting himself up as the sacrificial lamb to her- our ascension. We are twins, after all. We are born together as a matter of course.
I have a fateful encounter ahead. Success or failure, I have dedicated my life to opposing Rher, there is no way I would pass up the opportunity to some good old deicide. I can already see it, the peak! The fact I have to kill Rher to get there is more like a gift that keeps on giving them an obstacle. He alone is the one god I will never forgive.
I gathered my scattered influence, donned the pocket cat mantle, and strapped my sister's AI core to my waist. Being as prepared and refreshed as I can get, I resume my mad wandering, embarking on the forked path of the Dream labyrinth, the backroom. The dream dimension intersects all of time and space. It was time to search for new shores to explore.
-//-
[AUTHOR'S ROOM]
The strongest isekai in history versus the strongest isekai of today, everyone! I bet when I said Baba Yaga, the turbo overdrive planar crone of doom, would appear that none of you saw this coming. Shame on you! Of course she could become a hot Russian baby on demand. That is like, a second level spell they learn by level 3. Plus, Baba Yaga is canonically a factory of super models, none of her daughters ever scored less than an eight in both the hot and crazy scale!
This chapter was mostly illustrative, because as you know, moderators of these forums are prude nerds happy to bring down the hammer into any story portraying relationship that advances past hand holding. As far as the moderators are concerned writing mature topics is a privilege, not a right, and the reserve the right to decide what is acceptable depending on the hour of the day. Even the smallest displays of affection in an adult relationship have gotten me in trouble before, I am avoiding even saying triggering words so unfortunately you have to keep most of it to the imagination. But hey, at least now you people know Zagreus type! Between Yuki, Areelu, and Yanca he is three for three!
It was fun to write about their relationship, had they met under any other circumstance they would be at each other's throat. But when left to their own device they are kind of alike. Yanca doesn't value power, stubbornly exiting at the precipice of godhood because having people bothering her for favors annoys and disgusts her. Having her live as a recluse in the country she conquered show how alienated she is from everyone else. At her core she still the same simple woman that went out to get water and ended being left behind by her tribe. Yanca and Zagreus are just two losers feeling depressed and sorry for themselves and bonding over it, despite being counted among the movers and shakers of reality.
The fact she is the first recorded Earth Isekai only make this funnier, her sense of morals are very much B.C. oriented. If all those isekais can go around colonizing and founding countries, what is the problem when she does it? Columbus is the average earthling, not the exception!
Said that, her involvement in the plot will be indirect one. Prepare yourself for the rise of Tanya the 'Kind'! A young woman's adventure in Frozen Game of Thrones! Because a daughter of two isekay protagonists will definitely also be an Isekai! Not going to lie, this idea came to me when I saw a queen of Irrisen gained the epithet of "the kind" after she made economic reforms to improve the economic condition of her provinces.
Our favorite atheist gender bended corporation mascot will have to content being the love child of two Tyrants realm cultivators. Because this is a plot that will only unfold by the time Zagreus have entered it. So it will take a while. By the way, yes. Since Yanca is still human she quality for Prometheus's spark. In her case she isn't getting stronger so much as her immense power is being organized in a structured fashion. Instead of sophic, heroic and tyrant realms, Irrisen has Maiden, Mother, and Crone Realms. Tanya will be dual class too, like her apa (Greek for papa)!
- Location
- California
Zagreus busts open the door: "Hey kids, come meet your new mom!"
Yanca is in full Russian granny mode in an Addidas track suit.
Yanca is in full Russian granny mode in an Addidas track suit.
- Location
- Brazil
Yeah, as I mentioned. Yanca like to tempt people with power because she herself isn't tempered by it. She got annoyed with people going for her in search of power so she tended to put absurd conditions for her assistance. She is honorable enough to fulfill her part of the deal even if the other part disgusts her by actually doing what she asks of them. Over 13 generations of her daughters decided they would rather live as queens for a mere one hundred years despite knowing how said story ends yet they are lining themselves for the slaughter. Yanca's brutality is what one can expect of someone from her time but she can't answer for actions other than her own. Anastasia is ruling Irrisen as she pleases, after all.
Tanya is smart enough to search for a comfy position in middle management, so Yanca will have fun yanking her chair just to see her squirming instead of maliciously plotting her doom. She also might go out of her way to be a fixture in her life just to cause trouble. There is a country of hardcore atheists in Golarion that Tanya is totally getting banned from due to her parentage and pedigree.
Wow that was a surprise I really did not expect Zagreus meeting with Baba Yaga to go like that but I like it and oh how I can't wait to for those on JJK Earth to find out all about it!!
Also you've made another awesome side story plot and speaking of does the Irrisen share civic as the first realm before going to Maiden, Mother, and Crone Realms?
And on a related note will JJK earth be getting elementals eventually later? Like was shown in the last side story chapter?
Also you've made another awesome side story plot and speaking of does the Irrisen share civic as the first realm before going to Maiden, Mother, and Crone Realms?
And on a related note will JJK earth be getting elementals eventually later? Like was shown in the last side story chapter?
Tanya is in for one heck of a ride isn't she! And ahh you really have so many fascinating plot threads built up I can't wait to see them!
Also can I say I really love how Zagreus is spreading the knowledge he's gained from his mad scientist love interests. Makes me wonder what the titles for the book with Baba Yaga is as well as Areelu?
On another related note is Zagreus's type the same when it comes to guys or does he have a different preference there?
- Location
- washington
Is zagreus likely to show a viable afterlife to the mass effect aliens and humans? Can you imagine alien reaction to provable afterlife can you imagine if he gets access to preserved alien memories and dna from the reapers? We're talking about quadrillions of dead aliens if he got access to those harvested by the reapers.
Can Zagreus even provide room for the possible billions who will want access?
Can Zagreus even provide room for the possible billions who will want access?
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- Location
- Brazil
Part of the plot of Mass Effect will be how Zagreus spread cultivation. There is a lot of bad baggage to cultivation that Zagreus brush off since it comes with the kernel of being human. But it would be sad to saddle these aliens that managed to achieve space flight with the attention of the Gods of Ma'habre or Olympus. He will try someone novel and fit for an intergalactic space community.
- Location
- washington
Cool wonder how he will handle the afterlife stuff. Because he's bound to gain some worship at the very least by the basis he can provide an afterlife. Though some aliens might just see it as a transaction. Mass effect is the opportunity to really really really bloat his worship as cultivation spreads and the guarantee of an afterlife is given. Let's not even talk about what might happen if he can at all salvage the souls of dead civilizations that are possibly held by the reapers.
- Location
- Brazil
Well, you will have to wait and see.Tanya is in for one heck of a ride isn't she! And ahh you really have so many fascinating plot threads built up I can't wait to see them!
Also can I say I really love how Zagreus is spreading the knowledge he's gained from his mad scientist love interests. Makes me wonder what the titles for the book with Baba Yaga is as well as Areelu?
On another related note is Zagreus's type the same when it comes to guys or does he have a different preference there?
- Location
- Brazil
Yes, you could say she inherited his grandfather's curse. Orphism believes in the reincarnation circle and like in Buddhism, it is regarded as a bad thing. The fun thing about writing her is that she has a rather Puritan view of true divinity she uses to reject being x while being a white collar, so she is born with a silver spoon in her mouth but has to deal with the reality even capitalism has a god in Golarion. Aroden is a semi-mythological yet real historical figure who restored civilization by ushering in an Age of Enthronement. Spitting on the face of God-Kings is not that easy when they are breathing down her neck, her mother will instill Tanya with a heath respect for higher powers.
- Location
- Brazil
They secured a piece of the water elemental but decision of what to do with it will be up to United Nation and Raging Heaven. Considering cursed spirits have become a global problem, people will he reticent to introducing elementals... not that they have that much control to begin with...
- Location
- washington
Probably little given her fathers opinions on gender and how it affects his cultivation.
Rather missing the point given what we've learned about the soul during JJK and after Tanya remembers their last two live and one the one they view as their first was as a man this very much seems like it will have an effect on their cultivation not a negative one or anything like that but just something different from the average cultivator.
- Location
- Brazil
In the Greek lens, especially in the orphic lens, humans have a titanic part (body), and a divine spark (soul), since they were created from the ashes of the titans that ate Dyonisus. Considering gods are these faceless inscrutable entities while Prometheus is portrayed as bigger than life to the point it excell human ability to understand, this view is canon in Virtuous Sons.
Compared to her ordinary japanese body, and her malnourished and undeveloped body, Tanya rolled a SSR body. Between the rebirthing chamber and silver ichor her starting parameters will be Griffon-like. Irrisen is a matriarchal society, something Tanya will appreciate. Yet Tanya is so set into her ways that she causes people around her to misunderstand her intentions. Added to that Zagreus' Termina-related traumas and we have some really cringeworthy conversations in Tanya's future.
Hopefully with Zagreus's being able to hear the heart and mind they won't be to bad and hopefully growth will come about from it all.
G & G - 4
- Location
- Brazil
The two mages harassing the water spirit made themselves known after sundown: two hooded strangest, the perfect scenario for some spice-friendly fire. Unfortunately, the sorcerer's post-mortal senses allowed them to recognize the two academy students behind the hood when the girls entered their range. Tabitha and Kirche, the inseparable Ice & Cold dynamic duo were a fixture to the Japanese by now.
Only Saito would know to suspect otherwise if they played ignorant and he knew better than to call them out. That is why the plan went as intended. The two students were ambushed by a horde of low-grade cursed spirits as soon as they started to harass the Lake Spirit.
They certainly made for a better show than most adults Gojo and Geto had seen so far. The triangle mages used a combination of ice and fire attacks that would have pushed back even well-equipped veteran citizen realm cultivators capable of hunting semi-grade one cursed spirits.
But Suguru Geto was Suguru Geto. The grading system was rendered meaningless to cultivators past Foundation Establishment and Geto was set to be Special Grade as soon as he was identified as a holder of the Cursed Spirit Manipulation Innate Cursed Technique.
The girls were systematically maneuvered, harassed, quitted, and grounded down to dust. Be it flying, running, crawling, or burrowing, spirits of all shapes and sizes assaulted them from all sides. Geto has a rather harsh and unforgiving shikigami master for a teacher who made sure to imprint tactics and martial discipline so he could make full use of his talent. War is a cold game and those fortuitous souls capable of playing on this bloody sand pity without having to use precious lives as tokens have no excuse to not polish their skills to perfection.
Geto had the true measure of the two mages by the fifth exchange, he exhausted them by the tenth, forced them to reveal their trump card by the fourteenth pass, and had both girls and a dragon restrained by centipedes before the Saito and company could even recognize their true identity.
"Wait! These are Tabitha and Kirche! What are they doing here?" Saito asked in distress while peeking from cover with a clingy Louise hanged to him in one arm like a barnacle.
Guiche and Monmon also hung back. More in fear of Geto and his monsters than anything else. This suited the Geto just fine, he had an eye on Tabitha for a while but now he had a valid excuse to act with impunity; this development suited him fine.
Geto had reached it. Rock bottom. The despair of feeling the ground being stolen from under one's feet, the desperate rush toward a safe island of stability in a crumbling world, the feeling of wariness that makes a person feel nothing but relief when they finally stumble and fall, welcoming the end. But Geto also knew the euphoric vertigo of a rock-solid hand arresting dreaded fall. The relief to look up and meet understanding amethyst eyes crowning an affable smile as he was pulled up. Pulled up from the mouth of the Abyss to the road of promised Heaven.
Geto has made his life mission to save disenfranchised people like that. This is the one passion his black heart can consent to over acting on the hatred that he harbors. The one virtue that allowed him to rise above the hatred he lived neck deep into, that almost drowned him, that he ingested every day like bread. The lifeline that spurred him through the chasm that separated mortals from the divine.
Helping people like Tabitha is his life's calling, what fulfil him with meaning. As his teacher taught him, saving people, truly saving them, isn't easy. Especially in matters of the heart. Life has a way of poisoning even the best among us, which is why everyone needs help from time to time. So he refined his 'people-saving skills' as he did his combat skills. So even if Gojo and the world accuse him of being a creepy cult leader preying on vulnerable people, he can proudly brush them off. After all, Zagreus taught him everything he knows about being a spiritual leader and his favor has not abandoned him yet.
"Bull-roarer, glorying in thy golden wings, from whom the race of Gods and mortals springs."
Geto recited the orphic verse, mending the superficial injuries of the two mages and dragon with a soft green light as the cursed spirits receded back into black mist.
"Sorry for the rough treatment, but circumstances have forced my hand. Could you two spare a moment of your time for what I have to say?" Geto asked with his usual fox smile, the same way a lion might implore a lamb pinned under his pawns. Tabitha assented like it was someone else's problem, well past caring, and Kirche looked at her with concern.
Geto closed the distance until he was face to face with the young girl. Then he crouched to her eye level and cupped her small hands with his own. "Tabitha, would you please let me save you?" the monk asked with all his heartfelt sincerity.
"W-what?!" The ice mage's fiery friend quaked in confusion. "Who the hell ask someone something like that after what you had just done?"
Geto just turned a winning smile toward Kirche, melting her in the spot as he had with countless other girls. "She would never have put her faith in mere words, would she? To see is to believe, I don't know what sort of predicament she is in but it is clear to me that she is trapped and hanging by a tread. She displays all the signs of abuse but is also powerful enough that I can't write it off as familial abuse – at these words Kirche flinches back – so all I can do to show my sincerity is to reveal my hand."
"… why?" Tabitha finally asks with a monotonous voice.
"Because I am you, Tabitha. I was just as cornered as you are now when I was your age, so it is painful to just look at you. Like I am reliving painful memories to the point of losing sleep." Geto's answers with sincerity. He knew nothing was more real than pain. Their pain goes beyond the physical too. But it also could unite people, and frame things in a way Tabitha could understand.
"… I… you healed us… can you do the same for poison… can you heal the mind?" Tabitha finally asks with the same hesitation others would have placed a hand in an open flame. It was painful but there was something inside of the brazier worth the fire's kiss.
"Ah, Tabitha…" Kirche said sympathy for her friend. She already knew.
Geto Just smiled. "I will do you one better. Saito! Bring poor Louise here, would you?"
"Wait, so you were an Emanator all along!?" Saito vociferated, too outraged to care that he was being disrespectful to his better in his concern for Louise. "Why didn't you say so early? We wouldn't have to search for the water spirit in the first place if you could just heal her all along!"
"Because your teenage drama was the only entertainment to be had in this hick world," Gojo answers without an ounce of shame. "Besides, now you have a way to pay for said service. Right?" Gojo gloated while holding the Spirit Tear's bottle in his hand.
"Hey! When did you get it? Give it back!" Saito assaulted Gojo but was promptly handed his ass just to have a fanning Louise on his lap right at Geto's feet.
"Well, close and still enough." Said the monk as he recited another Orphic hymn, showering Louise in the eddies of a purple influence completely unlike Geto's own.
"Nature [Phusis], all parent, ancient, and divine, O Much-mechanic mother, art is thine;
Heav'nly, abundant, venerable queen, in ev'ry part of thy dominions seen.
Untam'd, all-taming, ever splendid light, all ruling, honor'd, and supremly bright.
Immortal, first-born [Protogeneia], ever still the same, nocturnal, starry, shining, glorious dame.
Thy feet's still traces in a circling course, by thee are turn'd, with unremitting force.
Pure ornament of all the pow'rs divine, finite and infinite alike you shine;"
Louise looked positively drunk the more she was bathed under the wine-dark aura until the moment something clicked inside of her.
Geto pulled back just to watch the petite mage go nuclear on Saito once she was freed from the love potion. It was something to watch, it was also a somewhat sad knee reaction to the feeling of shame and inadequacy rather than ungratefulness. Louise is going to be kicking herself later… until Saito does something crass again. Ha, the perils of youth! Gojo certainly feels more nostalgic for them than Geto ever did.
He then turned his sight back to Tabitha and placed his hand over her head, pouring every bit of his Zeal in every gesture. "Tabitha, I don't know what sort of ghosts haunt you. But I promise on my life and the virtue on my soul, you will never have to fear for it again for as long as I am here. You can leave it all behind. Come back with me to my home world, where no one knows who you are. You can build a new life there, with brothers and sisters that know the same pain as you do."
The blue-haired girl regarded me with disbelief as if I was a mirage. Just another cruel joke. How many nights did she cry herself to sleep dreaming of deliverance? I crouched low and looked her in the eye, daring her to disbelieve me. And she crumbled, whaling to the heavens the heartache she had sealed for long. Like an iceberg under the sun, the calcified pain choking Tabitha flowed away.
It was a familiar sight for Suguru Geto, but although his eyes were filled with tears his virtuous heart was choking on venom. The Black Heart Buddha breathed all that Tabitha released into himself, in the same way he ate curses and drank bad karma. That is how he tempered his body, mind, and soul. Guided by the light of his virtue, the guiding star he followed his entire life. The light of Zeal is pure and radiant, and capable of shrive clean the sins of mankind… and that is what makes Suguru Geto a monster capable of inspiring creeping dread in the eyes of his detractors, for even they fear the kind submission under the sway of his saint-like influence.
"Whose bosom's mad, fanatic transports fire, who move in rythm to the founding lyre:
Come, and benevolent my words attend, (in herds rejoicing), and my life defend."
Those two verses were more than enough to restore her fractured mind, dispensing the need of components as a sacrifice. Proof of the specialty of the higher power invoked.
For the first time in a decade, the Duchess de Orléans was capable of recognizing her own daughter. The spell even breathed some health and vigor back into her thin body, making her less of a shadow of her former self, as if the years she spent under the throes of madness were a dream. It was just a kind delusion though. She was robbed of her daughter and nothing would change the last ten years of pain. The reality of the little girl she drank poison to protect had been living as a slave skewered her like horn.
The only consolation was that they still had each other and a way out. Regicide sounded kind of nice, right now. Judging by the way Gojo just hung in the corner while watching the spectacle spoke volumes about his opinion in the matter. Nobody liked to see a serious Gojo, even if his normally cheery self was aggravating.
Geto could see the point though. It felt dreadfully nostalgic. It was like the Star Plasma Vessel all over again. They also felt invincible back then as well… until they discovered they weren't. There have been other Gandalfs throughout history, the water spirit confessed. There are other void mages around and although control over animals might seem a pitiful power at first glance, in a world where magical creatures are common it expresses formidable potential. The blueprint of their familiar magic – that Tabitha's familiar is a legendary rhyme dragon, sapient creature capable of wielding 'Firstborn Magic'.
Both knew just enough about Golarion and its dragons to be wary of the possibility Vindálfr could go full Targaryen in their asses. The crisis a single orb of dragonkind caused was enough cause for concern to reach the Worldwound: Zagreus almost considered abandoning the frontline to deal with it. The power of the Void was not to be underestimated and neither sorcerer felt like being rescued again.
"E-excuse me, mister Geto," Louise shyly called for the taller man's attention while mother and daughter reacquainted themselves with each other. "Saito once called you a 'emanator', as soon as you displayed your healing powers. But what kind of being is an emanator in the first place?"
"Ah, I guess you wouldn't have heard of it before. Well, the reason behind the title is due to Earth's magical history. Both sorcerers and philosophers perform supernatural phenomena beyond the keen of their fellow men through internal means: sorcerers have innate cursed techniques and philosophers have their monuments to ego engraved in their souls. Despite the nomenclature both paths perform their craft through the same process, using their Innate Domain to hold a… scroll imprinted in their minds."
"So that is why you don't need a focus!" Louise exclaimed. Despite her temper, she is something of a bookworm, trying to excel academically to make up for the lack of magic.
"Something like this. After the dawn of a new heroic age with the birth of new heroes our planet experienced a resurgence of magical phenomenon that was before then vanishing to the point most people in Saito's parents' generation didn't even believe magic to be real. The appearance of emanators is one such phenomenon. They are called such because they use an external source for their mysteries."
"So they are like Saito's cellphone? Capable of broadcasting information from afar by connecting to an external source!" Louise said, basking in the glow of her intelligence. Understandably, the girl desperately needed a victory after the day she just had.
"Indeed. But what emanators have in common is why and how they do such a feat. They are all cultivators of virtue still, virtuous men and women who managed to attract the gaze of higher power through piety. What connects them to this higher power is the bond of faith."
"Wait, so why do they have such a bland name? Shouldn't you call them apostles or saints? If faith in Brimir alone gave people magic of any kind then Romalia would be even more powerful than it already is!" Louise asks an obvious question… for someone raised in a god-fearing civilization.
Geto just laughed. "Well, you could say god has been dead in our world for the longest time. Atheism gained a lot of traction and their adherents are so desperate to avoid god as a possibility they come up with ever more complex theories to deny what you and I know to be true. And as you said, this is proof of a spiritual connection with the divine. What do you think would happen then if piety alone could give a commoner magic that an officially anointed priest couldn't perform despite professing himself as an agent of god approved by his church?"
"Ha," Louise said in exclamation; as if the results were that obvious because again, they were.
It was not like people in the Middle Ages were blind to the political games that the Church played. The Catholic and Orthodox branches literally excommunicate each other at one point. To be an emanator is the closest of holy stamp of approval one can ever get. The incarnated definition of performative excellence and old religious orders are chaffing at it. Especially when the only answer people get when asking Raging Heaven if Jesus is just another incarnation of Zagreus is to answer – 'he is not here to answer so we can't say.'
Some people inside and outside of Raging Heaven do in fact believe this. Understandably behavior when you consider how he basically sacrificed himself to save the world and the historical and thematic similarities between the two. To Western sensibility, it is conciliatory, almost comforting. That there is someone upstairs who descends to walk and struggle in the mud with them for mankind at critical junctures.
"Indeed. The only thing that is certain is that it is a 'familiar' power that belongs to our version of Brimir. While neither Gojo nor I were ever initiated into our master's mysteries as he professed a desire for us to create a new path unburdened by the dead weight of the past, he taught us what we needed to accomplish his mission. That is why I am regarded as something of a modern apostle."
"Judas maybe," Saito said from the sideline, speaking his mind before he realized who precisely he was speaking to. "Heh- I mean- i-is it hot in here all of a sudden or is it just me?" Then bolting for the door like his life depended on it.
"Quite a funny boyfriend you found yourself, Louise," Geto said in good humor, putting Louise on the spot as she remembered she had to keep the charade. "It's really romantic too, right? Most boys his age would be thrilled if their girlfriend became as pliable as you had been but he loved you enough to search for a cure."
"Ah- well… yes, of course it is! It is just… I-I… was em-emba-embarrassed… and he r-respect my boundaries!" Louise tried to say aloud to keep the charade but choked on a lie she just realized might not be a lie at all.
They really were a funny couple. They were getting closer to each other alright; this was just a little push to settle things. Once upon a time, Zagreus dropped a pearl of knowledge while dissecting Kinji Hakari's cursed technique to the now-dead higher-ups who once ran Jujutsu society. Zagreus made an eloquent argument for 'nothing new under the sun', from the mudra of Benzaiten, one of seven Fukujin, who people pray to for good luck, goddess of music that overtakes Hakari and allows him to overcome all adversities. While the boy himself was fuming at Zagreus for essentially calling him 'basic', nothing more than a modern skin mod to an old game. But that old story is beside the point of Louise and Saito's relationship. In his words, both men and women want the same two things – danger and games. That is why they pursue each other, the most dangerous game. That is why Mars and Venus are conjoined; it might look like a playground but is a battlefield.
Louise constantly compare him to a dog and the thing is, there is no fun gaiting a pet that has already been house-trained. A part of Louise revels in the challenge, typical attraction to a rebellious bad boy she intends to make her own. And Saito is no better, taking more validation in being Louise's familiar than he cares to admit. The sense of purpose, of being truly needed. That is why he goes out of her way to rile her up, like a boy pugging the ponytail of his girl crush.
It is extremely offensive for modern sensitivities but Geto could not blind himself from the truth of it. His master's faith that no matter the era, civilization, or standing, the essence of humankind remains the same is what drive him to gambit on humanity's better angels despite their follies. Then again, to a being like him, the modern hubris of thinking themselves the End of history must sound like nothing more than conceit. Every generation thinks itself cleverer than the previous one when they are only its lesser – a cruel truth of tarnished iron. And speaking of Elden races.
"Lady Irukuku, can you tell us something more about your 'First Born' magic?" Geto closes in on the transfigured dragon. One could easily mistake her for Tabitha's older sister, her long blue hair and emerald eyes being the only tell she was Sylphid.
The excitable girl was still a dragon among men though, so he had sharp enough instincts to give as much ground as Geto took, keeping an even distance between them. "Eh, Irukuku knows nothing! Irukuku was abandoned by mother almost as soon as she hatched!"
Unfortunately for her, she was peculiar enough to trip all of Gojo's jujutsu enthusiast instincts. So before she realized she was pinched by two sorcerer, as Gojo sneaked behind her while she was distracted to cut off any escaping routes. Sandwiched by the two buddhas, she was living the wet dreams of all thirsty women of Asia. Irukuku was not in the right state of mind to enjoy it though. In fact the poor thing was on the verge of tears. Like a big child in an adult's body.
"So we had the same trail of thought, didn't we?" Gojo said, once more wishing that sorcerers had something as convenient as rhetoric to communicate with each other without those in the room being none the wiser. His new soul broadcasting being closer to a malfunctioning walkie-talky with Geto, another cruel reminder they simply were not in the same wavelength of thought they once shared.
"Her ability goes way beyond druidic magic. Hesiod compiled scattered records of oral tradition, the first-born humankind that was like holy daemons{godlike} upon the earth, and was blessed and attended by the earth." Geto said because it was the best cover they could manage. As scholars of profound mysteries, it would be stranger if they showed indifference to such a rare creature. The perfect cover.
For the longest times, a part of Geto and Gojo dismissed much of what Zagreus told them as superstition of ancient people or allegory. Until they saw the truth of it, that is. Until they saw the blinding glory of a hero for themselves and understood the gulf between heaven and earth, they though themselves truly strong. Ah, to be young and foolish!
For something 'greater' to exist necessitates the existence of a 'lesser' to compare itself with. Every cold-blooded lizard has some dragon blood running in their veins, maybe once upon a time, all dragons of Halkeginia were sapient and rhyme is just atavism. And what does this say about humans then?
Tabitha became Geto's double agent, happily tattling everything she knew about King Joseph. For a guy regarded as incompetent, he certainly has been nothing if not cunning, devious even. One of those nihilistic bastards who only want to see the world burn. And considering Albion's current predicament we even managed a main suspect.
It was easy to rope Louise into our cause with this. Geto still had some special-grade curses capable enough to steal to spy on at least three people. That is why Geto tagged the princess, the cardinal, and the romalian knight familiar. Their little sting operation to flush out people of interest paid off. It was not something they were allowed to do but now Tsumiki will only be able to thank them for their foresight.
It granted them invaluable information too. Princess Henrietta has been a bad, bad girl! She needs someone of utmost trust to retrieve the love letter in possession of the last prince of Albion! And Louise has been considered despite her entanglements! They just needed an excuse to leave the two of them roam free for a while and they will be set!
Nothing like the rush of a plan coming together!
This chapter was more a set up for things to come but next chapter we will see some serious action! We also see a bit more of the side effects of heroes clashing with gods and imprisoning them into moons like pokemons. I don't know about you but if I people could summon demons – uncontestable proof of not only an afterlife, but Hell itself – I would pray every day for the salvation of my eternal soul for at least one hour, the same way I go to the gym for one hour. Being X is furiously taking notes while green with envy at the amount of faith power royalties Zagreus's muse is collecting from him.
Only Saito would know to suspect otherwise if they played ignorant and he knew better than to call them out. That is why the plan went as intended. The two students were ambushed by a horde of low-grade cursed spirits as soon as they started to harass the Lake Spirit.
They certainly made for a better show than most adults Gojo and Geto had seen so far. The triangle mages used a combination of ice and fire attacks that would have pushed back even well-equipped veteran citizen realm cultivators capable of hunting semi-grade one cursed spirits.
But Suguru Geto was Suguru Geto. The grading system was rendered meaningless to cultivators past Foundation Establishment and Geto was set to be Special Grade as soon as he was identified as a holder of the Cursed Spirit Manipulation Innate Cursed Technique.
The girls were systematically maneuvered, harassed, quitted, and grounded down to dust. Be it flying, running, crawling, or burrowing, spirits of all shapes and sizes assaulted them from all sides. Geto has a rather harsh and unforgiving shikigami master for a teacher who made sure to imprint tactics and martial discipline so he could make full use of his talent. War is a cold game and those fortuitous souls capable of playing on this bloody sand pity without having to use precious lives as tokens have no excuse to not polish their skills to perfection.
Geto had the true measure of the two mages by the fifth exchange, he exhausted them by the tenth, forced them to reveal their trump card by the fourteenth pass, and had both girls and a dragon restrained by centipedes before the Saito and company could even recognize their true identity.
"Wait! These are Tabitha and Kirche! What are they doing here?" Saito asked in distress while peeking from cover with a clingy Louise hanged to him in one arm like a barnacle.
Guiche and Monmon also hung back. More in fear of Geto and his monsters than anything else. This suited the Geto just fine, he had an eye on Tabitha for a while but now he had a valid excuse to act with impunity; this development suited him fine.
Geto had reached it. Rock bottom. The despair of feeling the ground being stolen from under one's feet, the desperate rush toward a safe island of stability in a crumbling world, the feeling of wariness that makes a person feel nothing but relief when they finally stumble and fall, welcoming the end. But Geto also knew the euphoric vertigo of a rock-solid hand arresting dreaded fall. The relief to look up and meet understanding amethyst eyes crowning an affable smile as he was pulled up. Pulled up from the mouth of the Abyss to the road of promised Heaven.
Geto has made his life mission to save disenfranchised people like that. This is the one passion his black heart can consent to over acting on the hatred that he harbors. The one virtue that allowed him to rise above the hatred he lived neck deep into, that almost drowned him, that he ingested every day like bread. The lifeline that spurred him through the chasm that separated mortals from the divine.
Helping people like Tabitha is his life's calling, what fulfil him with meaning. As his teacher taught him, saving people, truly saving them, isn't easy. Especially in matters of the heart. Life has a way of poisoning even the best among us, which is why everyone needs help from time to time. So he refined his 'people-saving skills' as he did his combat skills. So even if Gojo and the world accuse him of being a creepy cult leader preying on vulnerable people, he can proudly brush them off. After all, Zagreus taught him everything he knows about being a spiritual leader and his favor has not abandoned him yet.
"Bull-roarer, glorying in thy golden wings, from whom the race of Gods and mortals springs."
Geto recited the orphic verse, mending the superficial injuries of the two mages and dragon with a soft green light as the cursed spirits receded back into black mist.
"Sorry for the rough treatment, but circumstances have forced my hand. Could you two spare a moment of your time for what I have to say?" Geto asked with his usual fox smile, the same way a lion might implore a lamb pinned under his pawns. Tabitha assented like it was someone else's problem, well past caring, and Kirche looked at her with concern.
Geto closed the distance until he was face to face with the young girl. Then he crouched to her eye level and cupped her small hands with his own. "Tabitha, would you please let me save you?" the monk asked with all his heartfelt sincerity.
"W-what?!" The ice mage's fiery friend quaked in confusion. "Who the hell ask someone something like that after what you had just done?"
Geto just turned a winning smile toward Kirche, melting her in the spot as he had with countless other girls. "She would never have put her faith in mere words, would she? To see is to believe, I don't know what sort of predicament she is in but it is clear to me that she is trapped and hanging by a tread. She displays all the signs of abuse but is also powerful enough that I can't write it off as familial abuse – at these words Kirche flinches back – so all I can do to show my sincerity is to reveal my hand."
"… why?" Tabitha finally asks with a monotonous voice.
"Because I am you, Tabitha. I was just as cornered as you are now when I was your age, so it is painful to just look at you. Like I am reliving painful memories to the point of losing sleep." Geto's answers with sincerity. He knew nothing was more real than pain. Their pain goes beyond the physical too. But it also could unite people, and frame things in a way Tabitha could understand.
"… I… you healed us… can you do the same for poison… can you heal the mind?" Tabitha finally asks with the same hesitation others would have placed a hand in an open flame. It was painful but there was something inside of the brazier worth the fire's kiss.
"Ah, Tabitha…" Kirche said sympathy for her friend. She already knew.
Geto Just smiled. "I will do you one better. Saito! Bring poor Louise here, would you?"
"Wait, so you were an Emanator all along!?" Saito vociferated, too outraged to care that he was being disrespectful to his better in his concern for Louise. "Why didn't you say so early? We wouldn't have to search for the water spirit in the first place if you could just heal her all along!"
"Because your teenage drama was the only entertainment to be had in this hick world," Gojo answers without an ounce of shame. "Besides, now you have a way to pay for said service. Right?" Gojo gloated while holding the Spirit Tear's bottle in his hand.
"Hey! When did you get it? Give it back!" Saito assaulted Gojo but was promptly handed his ass just to have a fanning Louise on his lap right at Geto's feet.
"Well, close and still enough." Said the monk as he recited another Orphic hymn, showering Louise in the eddies of a purple influence completely unlike Geto's own.
"Nature [Phusis], all parent, ancient, and divine, O Much-mechanic mother, art is thine;
Heav'nly, abundant, venerable queen, in ev'ry part of thy dominions seen.
Untam'd, all-taming, ever splendid light, all ruling, honor'd, and supremly bright.
Immortal, first-born [Protogeneia], ever still the same, nocturnal, starry, shining, glorious dame.
Thy feet's still traces in a circling course, by thee are turn'd, with unremitting force.
Pure ornament of all the pow'rs divine, finite and infinite alike you shine;"
Louise looked positively drunk the more she was bathed under the wine-dark aura until the moment something clicked inside of her.
Geto pulled back just to watch the petite mage go nuclear on Saito once she was freed from the love potion. It was something to watch, it was also a somewhat sad knee reaction to the feeling of shame and inadequacy rather than ungratefulness. Louise is going to be kicking herself later… until Saito does something crass again. Ha, the perils of youth! Gojo certainly feels more nostalgic for them than Geto ever did.
He then turned his sight back to Tabitha and placed his hand over her head, pouring every bit of his Zeal in every gesture. "Tabitha, I don't know what sort of ghosts haunt you. But I promise on my life and the virtue on my soul, you will never have to fear for it again for as long as I am here. You can leave it all behind. Come back with me to my home world, where no one knows who you are. You can build a new life there, with brothers and sisters that know the same pain as you do."
The blue-haired girl regarded me with disbelief as if I was a mirage. Just another cruel joke. How many nights did she cry herself to sleep dreaming of deliverance? I crouched low and looked her in the eye, daring her to disbelieve me. And she crumbled, whaling to the heavens the heartache she had sealed for long. Like an iceberg under the sun, the calcified pain choking Tabitha flowed away.
It was a familiar sight for Suguru Geto, but although his eyes were filled with tears his virtuous heart was choking on venom. The Black Heart Buddha breathed all that Tabitha released into himself, in the same way he ate curses and drank bad karma. That is how he tempered his body, mind, and soul. Guided by the light of his virtue, the guiding star he followed his entire life. The light of Zeal is pure and radiant, and capable of shrive clean the sins of mankind… and that is what makes Suguru Geto a monster capable of inspiring creeping dread in the eyes of his detractors, for even they fear the kind submission under the sway of his saint-like influence.
-//-
After their little heart-to-heart, they moved as a group to Tabitha's state flying in the back of cursed spirits, met her poor wretch mad mother, and heard her tragic story.
"Whose bosom's mad, fanatic transports fire, who move in rythm to the founding lyre:
Come, and benevolent my words attend, (in herds rejoicing), and my life defend."
Those two verses were more than enough to restore her fractured mind, dispensing the need of components as a sacrifice. Proof of the specialty of the higher power invoked.
For the first time in a decade, the Duchess de Orléans was capable of recognizing her own daughter. The spell even breathed some health and vigor back into her thin body, making her less of a shadow of her former self, as if the years she spent under the throes of madness were a dream. It was just a kind delusion though. She was robbed of her daughter and nothing would change the last ten years of pain. The reality of the little girl she drank poison to protect had been living as a slave skewered her like horn.
The only consolation was that they still had each other and a way out. Regicide sounded kind of nice, right now. Judging by the way Gojo just hung in the corner while watching the spectacle spoke volumes about his opinion in the matter. Nobody liked to see a serious Gojo, even if his normally cheery self was aggravating.
Geto could see the point though. It felt dreadfully nostalgic. It was like the Star Plasma Vessel all over again. They also felt invincible back then as well… until they discovered they weren't. There have been other Gandalfs throughout history, the water spirit confessed. There are other void mages around and although control over animals might seem a pitiful power at first glance, in a world where magical creatures are common it expresses formidable potential. The blueprint of their familiar magic – that Tabitha's familiar is a legendary rhyme dragon, sapient creature capable of wielding 'Firstborn Magic'.
Both knew just enough about Golarion and its dragons to be wary of the possibility Vindálfr could go full Targaryen in their asses. The crisis a single orb of dragonkind caused was enough cause for concern to reach the Worldwound: Zagreus almost considered abandoning the frontline to deal with it. The power of the Void was not to be underestimated and neither sorcerer felt like being rescued again.
"E-excuse me, mister Geto," Louise shyly called for the taller man's attention while mother and daughter reacquainted themselves with each other. "Saito once called you a 'emanator', as soon as you displayed your healing powers. But what kind of being is an emanator in the first place?"
"Ah, I guess you wouldn't have heard of it before. Well, the reason behind the title is due to Earth's magical history. Both sorcerers and philosophers perform supernatural phenomena beyond the keen of their fellow men through internal means: sorcerers have innate cursed techniques and philosophers have their monuments to ego engraved in their souls. Despite the nomenclature both paths perform their craft through the same process, using their Innate Domain to hold a… scroll imprinted in their minds."
"So that is why you don't need a focus!" Louise exclaimed. Despite her temper, she is something of a bookworm, trying to excel academically to make up for the lack of magic.
"Something like this. After the dawn of a new heroic age with the birth of new heroes our planet experienced a resurgence of magical phenomenon that was before then vanishing to the point most people in Saito's parents' generation didn't even believe magic to be real. The appearance of emanators is one such phenomenon. They are called such because they use an external source for their mysteries."
"So they are like Saito's cellphone? Capable of broadcasting information from afar by connecting to an external source!" Louise said, basking in the glow of her intelligence. Understandably, the girl desperately needed a victory after the day she just had.
"Indeed. But what emanators have in common is why and how they do such a feat. They are all cultivators of virtue still, virtuous men and women who managed to attract the gaze of higher power through piety. What connects them to this higher power is the bond of faith."
"Wait, so why do they have such a bland name? Shouldn't you call them apostles or saints? If faith in Brimir alone gave people magic of any kind then Romalia would be even more powerful than it already is!" Louise asks an obvious question… for someone raised in a god-fearing civilization.
Geto just laughed. "Well, you could say god has been dead in our world for the longest time. Atheism gained a lot of traction and their adherents are so desperate to avoid god as a possibility they come up with ever more complex theories to deny what you and I know to be true. And as you said, this is proof of a spiritual connection with the divine. What do you think would happen then if piety alone could give a commoner magic that an officially anointed priest couldn't perform despite professing himself as an agent of god approved by his church?"
"Ha," Louise said in exclamation; as if the results were that obvious because again, they were.
It was not like people in the Middle Ages were blind to the political games that the Church played. The Catholic and Orthodox branches literally excommunicate each other at one point. To be an emanator is the closest of holy stamp of approval one can ever get. The incarnated definition of performative excellence and old religious orders are chaffing at it. Especially when the only answer people get when asking Raging Heaven if Jesus is just another incarnation of Zagreus is to answer – 'he is not here to answer so we can't say.'
Some people inside and outside of Raging Heaven do in fact believe this. Understandably behavior when you consider how he basically sacrificed himself to save the world and the historical and thematic similarities between the two. To Western sensibility, it is conciliatory, almost comforting. That there is someone upstairs who descends to walk and struggle in the mud with them for mankind at critical junctures.
"Indeed. The only thing that is certain is that it is a 'familiar' power that belongs to our version of Brimir. While neither Gojo nor I were ever initiated into our master's mysteries as he professed a desire for us to create a new path unburdened by the dead weight of the past, he taught us what we needed to accomplish his mission. That is why I am regarded as something of a modern apostle."
"Judas maybe," Saito said from the sideline, speaking his mind before he realized who precisely he was speaking to. "Heh- I mean- i-is it hot in here all of a sudden or is it just me?" Then bolting for the door like his life depended on it.
"Quite a funny boyfriend you found yourself, Louise," Geto said in good humor, putting Louise on the spot as she remembered she had to keep the charade. "It's really romantic too, right? Most boys his age would be thrilled if their girlfriend became as pliable as you had been but he loved you enough to search for a cure."
"Ah- well… yes, of course it is! It is just… I-I… was em-emba-embarrassed… and he r-respect my boundaries!" Louise tried to say aloud to keep the charade but choked on a lie she just realized might not be a lie at all.
They really were a funny couple. They were getting closer to each other alright; this was just a little push to settle things. Once upon a time, Zagreus dropped a pearl of knowledge while dissecting Kinji Hakari's cursed technique to the now-dead higher-ups who once ran Jujutsu society. Zagreus made an eloquent argument for 'nothing new under the sun', from the mudra of Benzaiten, one of seven Fukujin, who people pray to for good luck, goddess of music that overtakes Hakari and allows him to overcome all adversities. While the boy himself was fuming at Zagreus for essentially calling him 'basic', nothing more than a modern skin mod to an old game. But that old story is beside the point of Louise and Saito's relationship. In his words, both men and women want the same two things – danger and games. That is why they pursue each other, the most dangerous game. That is why Mars and Venus are conjoined; it might look like a playground but is a battlefield.
Louise constantly compare him to a dog and the thing is, there is no fun gaiting a pet that has already been house-trained. A part of Louise revels in the challenge, typical attraction to a rebellious bad boy she intends to make her own. And Saito is no better, taking more validation in being Louise's familiar than he cares to admit. The sense of purpose, of being truly needed. That is why he goes out of her way to rile her up, like a boy pugging the ponytail of his girl crush.
It is extremely offensive for modern sensitivities but Geto could not blind himself from the truth of it. His master's faith that no matter the era, civilization, or standing, the essence of humankind remains the same is what drive him to gambit on humanity's better angels despite their follies. Then again, to a being like him, the modern hubris of thinking themselves the End of history must sound like nothing more than conceit. Every generation thinks itself cleverer than the previous one when they are only its lesser – a cruel truth of tarnished iron. And speaking of Elden races.
"Lady Irukuku, can you tell us something more about your 'First Born' magic?" Geto closes in on the transfigured dragon. One could easily mistake her for Tabitha's older sister, her long blue hair and emerald eyes being the only tell she was Sylphid.
The excitable girl was still a dragon among men though, so he had sharp enough instincts to give as much ground as Geto took, keeping an even distance between them. "Eh, Irukuku knows nothing! Irukuku was abandoned by mother almost as soon as she hatched!"
Unfortunately for her, she was peculiar enough to trip all of Gojo's jujutsu enthusiast instincts. So before she realized she was pinched by two sorcerer, as Gojo sneaked behind her while she was distracted to cut off any escaping routes. Sandwiched by the two buddhas, she was living the wet dreams of all thirsty women of Asia. Irukuku was not in the right state of mind to enjoy it though. In fact the poor thing was on the verge of tears. Like a big child in an adult's body.
"So we had the same trail of thought, didn't we?" Gojo said, once more wishing that sorcerers had something as convenient as rhetoric to communicate with each other without those in the room being none the wiser. His new soul broadcasting being closer to a malfunctioning walkie-talky with Geto, another cruel reminder they simply were not in the same wavelength of thought they once shared.
"Her ability goes way beyond druidic magic. Hesiod compiled scattered records of oral tradition, the first-born humankind that was like holy daemons{godlike} upon the earth, and was blessed and attended by the earth." Geto said because it was the best cover they could manage. As scholars of profound mysteries, it would be stranger if they showed indifference to such a rare creature. The perfect cover.
For the longest times, a part of Geto and Gojo dismissed much of what Zagreus told them as superstition of ancient people or allegory. Until they saw the truth of it, that is. Until they saw the blinding glory of a hero for themselves and understood the gulf between heaven and earth, they though themselves truly strong. Ah, to be young and foolish!
For something 'greater' to exist necessitates the existence of a 'lesser' to compare itself with. Every cold-blooded lizard has some dragon blood running in their veins, maybe once upon a time, all dragons of Halkeginia were sapient and rhyme is just atavism. And what does this say about humans then?
-//-
After their hectic little adventure and emotionally taxing experiences the crew of students returned to the academy. Tabitha and her mother were stuck there until people in Raging Heaven finished the gate so she was quietly escorted to Siesta's family where she could be more easily protected. While the utility of cursed spirits as spies has been reduced with the proliferation of awakened souls, they still are a superb surveillance system and bodyguard force.
Tabitha became Geto's double agent, happily tattling everything she knew about King Joseph. For a guy regarded as incompetent, he certainly has been nothing if not cunning, devious even. One of those nihilistic bastards who only want to see the world burn. And considering Albion's current predicament we even managed a main suspect.
It was easy to rope Louise into our cause with this. Geto still had some special-grade curses capable enough to steal to spy on at least three people. That is why Geto tagged the princess, the cardinal, and the romalian knight familiar. Their little sting operation to flush out people of interest paid off. It was not something they were allowed to do but now Tsumiki will only be able to thank them for their foresight.
It granted them invaluable information too. Princess Henrietta has been a bad, bad girl! She needs someone of utmost trust to retrieve the love letter in possession of the last prince of Albion! And Louise has been considered despite her entanglements! They just needed an excuse to leave the two of them roam free for a while and they will be set!
Nothing like the rush of a plan coming together!
-//-
[Author's room]
This chapter was more a set up for things to come but next chapter we will see some serious action! We also see a bit more of the side effects of heroes clashing with gods and imprisoning them into moons like pokemons. I don't know about you but if I people could summon demons – uncontestable proof of not only an afterlife, but Hell itself – I would pray every day for the salvation of my eternal soul for at least one hour, the same way I go to the gym for one hour. Being X is furiously taking notes while green with envy at the amount of faith power royalties Zagreus's muse is collecting from him.
- Location
- washington
I'm still super curious how much worship mass effect galaxy will give him. Undeniable proof of an afterlife, resurrection abilities, untold power of
Cultivation, and proof of hell in a galaxy of hundreds of billions of souls. Maybe a couple trillion souls.
Cultivation, and proof of hell in a galaxy of hundreds of billions of souls. Maybe a couple trillion souls.