What: Another SI Fic. A story that tries to capture the feeling of the opening words of the Epic...
Sha Nagba Imuru [Omniverse SI; Currently in Naruto]
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presentiment
Endfall
A zero on the singularity.
- Location
- Somewhere else.
- Pronouns
- She/They
And at Inifinity's End, Change spoke.
These were its words.
"Weep not for heroes. Curse them."
from thus
These were its words.
"Weep not for heroes. Curse them."
from thus
- story, start -
And I opened my eyes and beheld the blood on my hands. Around me, around me, they all fought, and what they fought was a war. Screams of anger, and of pain echoed across the battlefield as the stars danced madly in the heavens above and the Elder Gods fell towards the dead earth. The ground was parched, and cracked, and burnt, the remnants of life long since withered and turned brown, and at this moment there was no hope left.
No. Hope was long and far away. We had lost. And we had lost everything. Stumbling to my feet, I looked around the chaos of the battlefield, until my eyes locked on those of one man. His eyes calm, clinical, disinterested, his countenance calm. Here was someone who didn't fear for his life.
My own expression was half-crazed, but I felt the same. We were of a kind, and that changed everything. Reaching into the back of my mind, I connected with the Principle of Ontology, fell into an echo of the Wúxiào Wǔshù, and gestured.
Come. Let us end this.
He nodded, and fell into no stance. Instead, around him, everything simply unraveled, as the seams of existence were unmade. I narrowed my eyes, then charged.
There was no interval between the beginning and the end. In one moment, I had crossed two miles and opened up with my first blow, a shattering resonance that would break the reality of his soul. He stepped out of the moment that defined his death and flowed around the worldlines defining my victory, falling back into the world where he survived. I pursued, but he was ready, had prepared a trap, a hidden fist glowing with the fury of a green sun. Accepting the blow as it was offered, I stepped through it and let it echo through nothing and out of my back. As the coruscating fury of a titan's rage decimated the armies surrounding us, I dodged his second conventionally, lunged forward through the lacuna of his pace, and had my mind fall into a certain pattern as my hand made contact with his body, and my spirit brushed against his souls.
Void Architecture. World Eater.
The un-not surrounding the man crumpled, and shattered into pieces, and his eyes widened as he understood what I had done, confidence replaced with horror. The effect spread, and he turned to flee. In the next moment, he no longer was. Even if he had used a truer method of escape, it wouldn't have been enough.
Nothing would have.
This multiverse was doomed.
As what I had done extended, and continued, ramifying as it grew outwards, the local physics failed, its axioms disrupted and coming undone. I watched from the inside, as men, women, and children fell apart. I watched as the old gods fell. I watched as the event horizon of reality extended throughout everything, and the bubble of math that defined this plurality fell, and descended into One.
And then it was over.
Another Samsara Breaker had died.
And I, once again, and as always, was alone.
Beneath me, separated by what was only a conceptual distance, something like a star flickered. A singularity. The terminus of the axiomatic branch that had formed the world I had destroyed.
I stepped down, to it, and let my mind fall into a pattern more.
Antithesis: World Eater.
It was the negative image of the first, arranged so all the prismatic concepts that coloured the reality of the death of a multiverse cancelled each other out, to a certain and uniform grey.
And the singularity exploded, unravelling out into a glorious and complete system of the world.
I stared at it from the outside, and almost took a step towards it before I stopped myself, and slowly turned away.
My arrival and everything that I had done had been unwritten. So had the actions - and final life - of the other Breaker.
It was over.
This was no longer my home.
"Goodbye," I whispered, hugging myself as I walked away. "Goodbye."
I don't remember how long it took.
But eventually, after I had walked too far, my body and soul ceased to be valid propositions, and everything collapsed as I died, and once again fell into a new world.
it would never end
It would never, ever, end.
Why could that thought still make me smile?
Sha Nagba Imuru
Lexicon
Wúxiào Wǔshù
A Supernatural Martial Art originating from The Fourteen. Founded on the Principle of Ontology. Katas enable users to manipulate gaps. Four styles, each with an increasing degree of enlightenment as to the nature of the Principle of Ontology. Grandmasters are capable of creating absences that compete with plenums for the definition of "reality". This technique is, strictly speaking, a method of induction for the Supernal Art relating to Ontology. That it is functional in and of itself is a testament to the skill of it's maker: Leng.
Void Architecture
The method of creating fundamental patterns that are axiomatically correct over all facets of the Omniverse; the power of absolute truth. World Eater is a construct that inserts contradictory terms into the Axiom set instantiating a given Multiverse, causing an irrevocable, cascading destruction of that Multiverse. Antithesis: World Eater creates conceptual negative space around the initial construct. Both are generic: rather that World Earter being an Axiom that killed that specific Multiverse, World Eater is a construct that produces such an Axiom for the Multiverse that is is instantiated within.
Universe
A piece of a multiverse, a complete world. Usually finite in size.
Multiverse
A set of all possible universes. The multiverse contains a universe for every possible outcome encoded in its Laws. These Laws define the operation of physics. Usually finite in size, but incomprehensibly vast by human standards. Some Multiverses contain smaller multiverses, some contain infinitely deep hierarchies of them. Each multiverse forms a node on the Axiomatic Tree of the Tenth of The Fourteen.
Omniverse
A set of all possible Multiverses. "A" because the structure (if any) linking those multiverse could, in theory, vary. In the context of this story, each Multiverse is a different set of Laws. This is not in terms of physical constants. A Multiverse containing a world where the Big Bang happened differently such that Hydrogen is the only possible atom (all others being radioactive) would still be our home Multiverse. Each Multiverse has fundamentally different Laws, and it is not uncommon for one set of Laws to be incompatible with the other. The nature of these Laws are set by their Axioms, and so, just like a Multiverse contains all possible outcomes allowed by Laws, the Omniverse contains all possible (that is, non contradictory) Axiomatic Configurations. The Omniverse of our tale catalogs infinity by beginning with the simplest Axiom. From it, it branches out, the omniverse branches out along all possible Axiomatic Paths, each node between Axioms containing a Multiverse which contains a universe in turn.
To try to illustrate the level of abstraction Axioms operate at, it is perfectly valid for a multiverse to exist where numbers like pi and e have other values, or simply do not exist.
The size of the Omniverse is not finite. The lower bound is ℵ1 multiverses. There is no upper bound.
Axiom
A "recieved truth". In the maths, you can ask if 2+2 = 4, and either you or a mathematician can sit down and tell you that it does, and explain why. But all explanations have to stop somewhere. The stopping point is an Axiom (or a set of them), and what the mathematician proves to you is that if the Axiom/Axioms is/are true, then 2 + 2 = 4. It's important to note that axioms are statements that are true, not true statements. For example, is we say that an axiom of algebra is that "a + b = b + a", we can also say that an axiom of algebra is that it is false that a + b = b + a, or in pure symbols, a + b ≠ b + a. There are also certain forms of logic that admit of more or less than the two truth values (true ad false) of everyday logic. For example, the Omniverse of the story begins with unary logic, which only permits truth. Eventually, it creates axioms that allow types of logic with more than one kind of truth, and then multiverses are permitted to branch in ways that are not permitted based on just the presence or absence of axioms, but also the truth values of the statements. (Although the term "truth value" implies a degree of comprehension that isn't present in the system.)
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prologue
Endfall
A zero on the singularity.
- Location
- Somewhere else.
- Pronouns
- She/They
If science has taught one overriding truth to humanity before all else, it was this: That we are not special. That, as a species, humanity is enormously insignificant. That we are a people of specks, made of specks, living upon slightly larger specks that, in finality, look like - and are - cosmic dust.
Humanity is flotsam. Humanity is seafoam. Humanity is brief, fragile, and altogether too intricate to truly embrace in the faint window that we have on existence.
The human kind had rejected that notion. I had rejoiced in it.
Looking back, here, at Ultima Mobile, I believe that that may have been the start of it all - the window that had lead to this world, this moment, this decision. But, perhaps that's just wishful thinking at its finest, and at its worst.
Sometimes there are no explanations.
And sometimes?
Sometimes, the only explanation necessary is the who that informs the identity of the one asking the question.
I've found that those times are the worst.
Why did things break?
"Because it was you."
I lived to be older than anyone born just a decade before me could have dreamed to die.
Death had been murdered in the turning of the world. Unbound from it, I watched as humanity increased in knowledge, and I watched as they built a wholly artificial utopia to escape from the other side of that phrase. I watched as they uploaded themselves to machines, digitised the information of the universe, and I watched as they took grasp of the guttering light of knowledge, and there, on a planet that they had never actually left, ascended.
I watched as they threw all their works away, and left everything behind without even understanding what they had lost in the process.
The Fermi Paradox had found its answer: Any species that failed to destroy itself transcended the fabric of space and time to chase answers to the kinds of questions that Yog-Sothoth would have been fascinated by, dragging the disinterested majority in a wake of increasingly purposeless utopia. It was as fitting as it was bitter, to know that all who could see the wonder of our world would judge it, and ultimately find it wanting.
The transcension, as it was called, was utterly anticlimactic for those not directly involved. This is what happened: One day, every computer in the world went idle, every AI vanished, and every medium of storage was erased, save for a three kilobyte program that unfolded into the thirty-seven exabyte lotus of pure information, this containing:
Item One: Recipes for mind uploading hardware; technological paradigms scalable to any level of advancement.
Item Two: A method of adjusting the curvature of spacetime through phenomena arising from electric circuits that none of those left behind - baseline or otherwise - could possibly understand.
Item Three: A manifesto detailing the reasons why transcension had been necessary. Apparently, humanity had moved to a universe without entropy.
The few who remained stared into this font of information, and felt in it the subtle judgement of those who had left us behind.
It went unsaid that this wisdom was not for our hands.
So, from the graveyard CERN had become, we dispersed, and dropped out of contact with each other, the last left on the planet becoming minorities of one as we all walked without the others' informational even horizons.
Some of us went to destroy the archives. Some of us went to try to remake the human kind. Some of us went to wander.
But I think all of us, in our own ways, knew that, in the end?
We were going to die.
For the next several decades I haunted the world, ruling as one of the hundreds of lords of the dust that remained, over a realm of ashes and a kingdom of no one. While some of my peers set to restore the species, and may have succeeded, I strayed across the world and slowly slipped back into the familiar madness that came with being alone.
In the nineteenth century, a man named Alexander was stranded on a deserted island.
Not by a shipwreck.
By his own will.
He dreamed that he would attain passage from some other ship, crossing over the horizon. It was not to be: on that island, he lived for four years, utterly alone, and the world ravaged him for it. When, at last, a ship appeared on the horizon, what met the sailors as they came ashore was something that was barely human. Ragged, tanned by the sun, clothed in skins; in just four years of isolation, Alexander had all but lost the ability of language. In one of the great ironies of history, the ship was the same as had left him, the captain the same as had stranded him.
Isolation is not good for a human.
But I was never very good at being human to begin with.
Humans cooperate and organise. Humans cover for their weaknesses, and create a gestalt of their strengths. Humans have true power only collectively, and that is a world in which I cannot believe, because I can never bring myself to embrace the paradox, that we tell tales of singular people, and not even once does such truly arise in life.
Twenty four hundred years past, another Alexander rose to greatness on the backs of his nations. Of the man who had risen thus, all said, "Alexander was one of the great men of history. Nobody can do what he has done." Both explanations are true. Both are false. And everything I tell you is a lie.
One of those sentences is a lie.
Was I out of joint, or was it the world?
Either way, the answer didn't matter, because, half mad, as I thought obsessively over a question that in all probability had no true answer, the universe died.
Silently, I went with it.
By the way, that's a lie.
And then... ha.
My only wish was granted.
The Singularity
A theory of the future popular among certain groups. It holds that we are approaching a critical point, after which the world will become something we cannot even imagine. A purported scientific theory of the end of history that claims that the world will transcend humanity's ability to predict or understand it to even the most minimal extent imaginable, and that, in permanent fashion.
Something similar to it occured in this world. On this Terra. The difference was that, eventually? It ended.
And then no one inherited the Earth.
Ultima Mobile
The Last Cause. A metaphysical location defined as The End. From certain frames of reference, it is also defined as The Beginning.
Humanity is flotsam. Humanity is seafoam. Humanity is brief, fragile, and altogether too intricate to truly embrace in the faint window that we have on existence.
The human kind had rejected that notion. I had rejoiced in it.
Looking back, here, at Ultima Mobile, I believe that that may have been the start of it all - the window that had lead to this world, this moment, this decision. But, perhaps that's just wishful thinking at its finest, and at its worst.
Sometimes there are no explanations.
And sometimes?
Sometimes, the only explanation necessary is the who that informs the identity of the one asking the question.
I've found that those times are the worst.
Why did things break?
"Because it was you."
Prologue
I lived to be older than anyone born just a decade before me could have dreamed to die.
Death had been murdered in the turning of the world. Unbound from it, I watched as humanity increased in knowledge, and I watched as they built a wholly artificial utopia to escape from the other side of that phrase. I watched as they uploaded themselves to machines, digitised the information of the universe, and I watched as they took grasp of the guttering light of knowledge, and there, on a planet that they had never actually left, ascended.
I watched as they threw all their works away, and left everything behind without even understanding what they had lost in the process.
The Fermi Paradox had found its answer: Any species that failed to destroy itself transcended the fabric of space and time to chase answers to the kinds of questions that Yog-Sothoth would have been fascinated by, dragging the disinterested majority in a wake of increasingly purposeless utopia. It was as fitting as it was bitter, to know that all who could see the wonder of our world would judge it, and ultimately find it wanting.
The transcension, as it was called, was utterly anticlimactic for those not directly involved. This is what happened: One day, every computer in the world went idle, every AI vanished, and every medium of storage was erased, save for a three kilobyte program that unfolded into the thirty-seven exabyte lotus of pure information, this containing:
Item One: Recipes for mind uploading hardware; technological paradigms scalable to any level of advancement.
Item Two: A method of adjusting the curvature of spacetime through phenomena arising from electric circuits that none of those left behind - baseline or otherwise - could possibly understand.
Item Three: A manifesto detailing the reasons why transcension had been necessary. Apparently, humanity had moved to a universe without entropy.
The few who remained stared into this font of information, and felt in it the subtle judgement of those who had left us behind.
It went unsaid that this wisdom was not for our hands.
So, from the graveyard CERN had become, we dispersed, and dropped out of contact with each other, the last left on the planet becoming minorities of one as we all walked without the others' informational even horizons.
Some of us went to destroy the archives. Some of us went to try to remake the human kind. Some of us went to wander.
But I think all of us, in our own ways, knew that, in the end?
We were going to die.
For the next several decades I haunted the world, ruling as one of the hundreds of lords of the dust that remained, over a realm of ashes and a kingdom of no one. While some of my peers set to restore the species, and may have succeeded, I strayed across the world and slowly slipped back into the familiar madness that came with being alone.
In the nineteenth century, a man named Alexander was stranded on a deserted island.
Not by a shipwreck.
By his own will.
He dreamed that he would attain passage from some other ship, crossing over the horizon. It was not to be: on that island, he lived for four years, utterly alone, and the world ravaged him for it. When, at last, a ship appeared on the horizon, what met the sailors as they came ashore was something that was barely human. Ragged, tanned by the sun, clothed in skins; in just four years of isolation, Alexander had all but lost the ability of language. In one of the great ironies of history, the ship was the same as had left him, the captain the same as had stranded him.
Isolation is not good for a human.
But I was never very good at being human to begin with.
Humans cooperate and organise. Humans cover for their weaknesses, and create a gestalt of their strengths. Humans have true power only collectively, and that is a world in which I cannot believe, because I can never bring myself to embrace the paradox, that we tell tales of singular people, and not even once does such truly arise in life.
Twenty four hundred years past, another Alexander rose to greatness on the backs of his nations. Of the man who had risen thus, all said, "Alexander was one of the great men of history. Nobody can do what he has done." Both explanations are true. Both are false. And everything I tell you is a lie.
One of those sentences is a lie.
Was I out of joint, or was it the world?
Either way, the answer didn't matter, because, half mad, as I thought obsessively over a question that in all probability had no true answer, the universe died.
Silently, I went with it.
By the way, that's a lie.
And then... ha.
My only wish was granted.
SNI
Lexicon
The Singularity
A theory of the future popular among certain groups. It holds that we are approaching a critical point, after which the world will become something we cannot even imagine. A purported scientific theory of the end of history that claims that the world will transcend humanity's ability to predict or understand it to even the most minimal extent imaginable, and that, in permanent fashion.
Something similar to it occured in this world. On this Terra. The difference was that, eventually? It ended.
And then no one inherited the Earth.
Ultima Mobile
The Last Cause. A metaphysical location defined as The End. From certain frames of reference, it is also defined as The Beginning.
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Arrival: Naruto
Endfall
A zero on the singularity.
- Location
- Somewhere else.
- Pronouns
- She/They
In Takamagahara, the high plain of heaven, a lonely god stood above a representation of the world's waters. Clear, transperfect, and an unearthly blue, though the frame of the being's body moved, its feet created not a single ripple, and the air circulating through its lungs did not trace against the surface. This was the perfected world, and in this place, the water would only act as the god willed it, and even then, only to the patterns of its will.
This, perhaps, had bearing on why the god was so lonely; for in this perfect vacuum of a world, what bore meaning that wasn't held to do so? What had beauty, that wasn't by design? Takamagahara was a world constructed, and in that was its downfall. For what worth did a constructed world have, when none saw it but the makers?
All of this is presumption, however. I do not claim to understand that god. I only offer an explanation. The truth might be something stranger still.
As the god stood, frozen upon the surface of the water, two things occurred. First, a whisper, from his sister god, who organised the flow of the world as he administrated its structure. This whisper held two words, and these were: "Samsara Breaker."
The second was that a comet bloomed into existence, and began to descend from the sky. For the moment, it was not headed for the errant god, but Takamagahara was sculpted by the hands of divinity, and so, with a thought, the lonely god gave the subtle geometries of this place leave to bend only toward him.
Then, he waited.
The comet turned through the sky, following an eldritch path as the direction of its descent was constrained, and as it slowly grew larger the god's hand rose in eerie synchronicity, as if it and the comet were two pieces of a single thing, inextricably linked. But it was not so. All that there was was inhuman, perfect skill, in finding the right moment, and drawing towards it.
And then there was no time at all.
The comet screamed towards the lonely god, who held his hand before it, and there, in the final extremity, its progress was forced to a halt, for
with a single act of will,
not assumed, but commanded,
the fury of its approach was denied.
And then, all that was left was a sphere, which appeared as if it were made of white marble and darkness. This, the lonely god held.
Here, I met the one called Shinigami.
The world inverted.
The lonely god stood on the material plane, and I found myself corporeal, for the mean.
This is how everything began.
"So," the god spoke first, "You have broken your soul."
"That I even have a soul shows how broken things are, I suppose," I said.
The god's eyes narrowed. "Explain."
"My world had no souls. Have I gone insane?"
"That question has no answer. If I say yes, I may be lying, if I say no, I may be a delusion attempting to perpetuate its existence. Do you agree?"
"Yes." There was no other answer.
"Then let us move on. Why have you come to this seed[world]?"
I perked up.
"That[It] is[was] an[not] interesting[by] trick[design]."
"I will ask you to refrain from unnecessary multiplexing," the god said.
"Why[Efficient.]?"
"Because there are finer things than efficiency. Or do you hail from a machine seed[world] where such an idea is heresy?"
"I hail from a quantum world," I said.
"Then why are you here?"
"Presumably," I said, "Because quantum immortality is true, but the universe couldn't reconcile my continued existence with vacuum collapse."
"A coherent narrative," the god allowed, "But why, in the first place, did such a thing occur?"
"A good question. I have no idea."
The god stared at me for a moment, then slowly nodded. "Very well. Your soul shows no dishonesty. I am satisfied that you will not murder the world."
What.
"I will explain to you the nature of the ground," the god continued, as if it hadn't said something ridiculous. "In the system of reality that you currently partake, there is a cycle of death and rebirth for all souls. I administrate death. My sister, rebirth. The system in totality is called samsara."
"We actually had that word in my world," I volunteered.
"Did you now? Unsurprising," The administrator of death said, and continued, "It is rare, but occasionally, there are souls that escape the system. In approaching the world, I believe that you - your wave-function - accreted a soul, and that the incompatibility caused your... Unconventional arrival."
"Given that I know absolutely nothing of metaphysics[and its strange to be using that term seriously] I accept your hypothesis."
"Very well," said the administrator of death, "but you must also know what typically becomes of souls that cannot be accepted by the samsara."
The question was its own answer. "Let me guess - nothing good?"
"Insanity is by far the most common outcome," The god said, "And what makes that a problem is that a Samsara Breaker only accumulates experience. There is no cleansing. No reset."
"No murder," I said.
"What?" The god.
"No murder. They remain who they were. The slate is never wiped clean. They are, who they are, who they are."
"Just so," said the god, "But why murder?"
"Quantum universe. Where I come from, the memories are the person."
"Ah. This seed[world] operates otherwise."
"Thank goodness," I said. It wasn't feigned. "So, I'm atypical?"
"Yes, and that is the crux of the issue."
"Define."
"At the moment, you are not the only one active on this seed[world]. There is another."
"One of the madmen?"
"Yes."
"You cannot destroy it?"
"I cannot find it." That admission was why I assigned them a lowercase g.
"But..."
"I believe that you may be able to. Like attracts like, in this case."
"Incentive?"
"My seal."
"Benefits?"
"It will mark you sane, if your soul cannot be contained by our cycle."
Ah. Useful.
"I accept."
"Then be born."
And so I was.
LexiconThe Quantum Worlds
An intermediate level of hierarchy in the Omniverse that exists after the level of complexity necessary to for multiverses to contain intelligent life, but before the level allowing acausality metrics to exist. A unique subset: for most Multiverses in the Quantum Worlds, no distinction between a Universe and Multiverse can be drawn.
Takamagahara
Translates as the High Plain of Heaven. A constructed world where the beings that administrate the natural world live.
Vacuum Collapse
Imagine the universe is a soap bubble. Pop the bubble. Do not imagine anything remains, afterwards. This is not an existential apocalypse. This is an ontological one.
Notes.
Early because almost nothing bore changing. The writing here is really spare, but I'm not yet skilled enough to see how to improve it without breaking certain things.
This, perhaps, had bearing on why the god was so lonely; for in this perfect vacuum of a world, what bore meaning that wasn't held to do so? What had beauty, that wasn't by design? Takamagahara was a world constructed, and in that was its downfall. For what worth did a constructed world have, when none saw it but the makers?
All of this is presumption, however. I do not claim to understand that god. I only offer an explanation. The truth might be something stranger still.
As the god stood, frozen upon the surface of the water, two things occurred. First, a whisper, from his sister god, who organised the flow of the world as he administrated its structure. This whisper held two words, and these were: "Samsara Breaker."
The second was that a comet bloomed into existence, and began to descend from the sky. For the moment, it was not headed for the errant god, but Takamagahara was sculpted by the hands of divinity, and so, with a thought, the lonely god gave the subtle geometries of this place leave to bend only toward him.
Then, he waited.
The comet turned through the sky, following an eldritch path as the direction of its descent was constrained, and as it slowly grew larger the god's hand rose in eerie synchronicity, as if it and the comet were two pieces of a single thing, inextricably linked. But it was not so. All that there was was inhuman, perfect skill, in finding the right moment, and drawing towards it.
And then there was no time at all.
The comet screamed towards the lonely god, who held his hand before it, and there, in the final extremity, its progress was forced to a halt, for
with a single act of will,
not assumed, but commanded,
the fury of its approach was denied.
And then, all that was left was a sphere, which appeared as if it were made of white marble and darkness. This, the lonely god held.
Here, I met the one called Shinigami.
The world inverted.
The lonely god stood on the material plane, and I found myself corporeal, for the mean.
This is how everything began.
"So," the god spoke first, "You have broken your soul."
"That I even have a soul shows how broken things are, I suppose," I said.
The god's eyes narrowed. "Explain."
"My world had no souls. Have I gone insane?"
"That question has no answer. If I say yes, I may be lying, if I say no, I may be a delusion attempting to perpetuate its existence. Do you agree?"
"Yes." There was no other answer.
"Then let us move on. Why have you come to this seed[world]?"
I perked up.
"That[It] is[was] an[not] interesting[by] trick[design]."
"I will ask you to refrain from unnecessary multiplexing," the god said.
"Why[Efficient.]?"
"Because there are finer things than efficiency. Or do you hail from a machine seed[world] where such an idea is heresy?"
"I hail from a quantum world," I said.
"Then why are you here?"
"Presumably," I said, "Because quantum immortality is true, but the universe couldn't reconcile my continued existence with vacuum collapse."
"A coherent narrative," the god allowed, "But why, in the first place, did such a thing occur?"
"A good question. I have no idea."
The god stared at me for a moment, then slowly nodded. "Very well. Your soul shows no dishonesty. I am satisfied that you will not murder the world."
What.
"I will explain to you the nature of the ground," the god continued, as if it hadn't said something ridiculous. "In the system of reality that you currently partake, there is a cycle of death and rebirth for all souls. I administrate death. My sister, rebirth. The system in totality is called samsara."
"We actually had that word in my world," I volunteered.
"Did you now? Unsurprising," The administrator of death said, and continued, "It is rare, but occasionally, there are souls that escape the system. In approaching the world, I believe that you - your wave-function - accreted a soul, and that the incompatibility caused your... Unconventional arrival."
"Given that I know absolutely nothing of metaphysics[and its strange to be using that term seriously] I accept your hypothesis."
"Very well," said the administrator of death, "but you must also know what typically becomes of souls that cannot be accepted by the samsara."
The question was its own answer. "Let me guess - nothing good?"
"Insanity is by far the most common outcome," The god said, "And what makes that a problem is that a Samsara Breaker only accumulates experience. There is no cleansing. No reset."
"No murder," I said.
"What?" The god.
"No murder. They remain who they were. The slate is never wiped clean. They are, who they are, who they are."
"Just so," said the god, "But why murder?"
"Quantum universe. Where I come from, the memories are the person."
"Ah. This seed[world] operates otherwise."
"Thank goodness," I said. It wasn't feigned. "So, I'm atypical?"
"Yes, and that is the crux of the issue."
"Define."
"At the moment, you are not the only one active on this seed[world]. There is another."
"One of the madmen?"
"Yes."
"You cannot destroy it?"
"I cannot find it." That admission was why I assigned them a lowercase g.
"But..."
"I believe that you may be able to. Like attracts like, in this case."
"Incentive?"
"My seal."
"Benefits?"
"It will mark you sane, if your soul cannot be contained by our cycle."
Ah. Useful.
"I accept."
"Then be born."
And so I was.
SNI
Lexicon
An intermediate level of hierarchy in the Omniverse that exists after the level of complexity necessary to for multiverses to contain intelligent life, but before the level allowing acausality metrics to exist. A unique subset: for most Multiverses in the Quantum Worlds, no distinction between a Universe and Multiverse can be drawn.
Takamagahara
Translates as the High Plain of Heaven. A constructed world where the beings that administrate the natural world live.
Vacuum Collapse
Imagine the universe is a soap bubble. Pop the bubble. Do not imagine anything remains, afterwards. This is not an existential apocalypse. This is an ontological one.
Notes.
Early because almost nothing bore changing. The writing here is really spare, but I'm not yet skilled enough to see how to improve it without breaking certain things.
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Maple of the Fall
Endfall
A zero on the singularity.
- Location
- Somewhere else.
- Pronouns
- She/They
Being reborn was neither pleasant or unpleasant, because for me, it never happened. In this world, the goddess - Rinnegami - said that there were those meant to live, and those whose purpose in life was to die. I was assigned to one of the latter, and her (my) position made inverse. Two hours after she had died, a child named Uzumaki Touren returned to life. I returned with her - as her.
By literal divine providence, a shinobi pulled me from the wreckage of a hospital in the shattered remnant of Uzushiogakure, and took me to another place, named Konohagakure no Sato, the village hidden in leaves. There, under the shadow of something that vaguely resembled a partially complete echo of Mount Rushmore, I spent my first years. Not in the care of a loving family; but in an orphanage, and glad for it. The caretaker was an interesting man. One night I found him writing ciphertext, and that was when we came to know each other.
"Mn," I said, "Hey Kazu-san," as I walked past to get a glass of water. Kazu twitched.
"Kaede-chan?" He said my Konoha-given name with an undercurrent of tension colouring his voice. I climbed up onto the counter top and got a glass down. "What are you doing up?"
If what he was writing had been a legitimate report, then there should have been no particular worry. Hello, I thought.
"Evidently?" I said, scooting over to the tap, "Frightening you. Kiri or Iwa?" I asked, echoing the names of Konoha's prime enemies, without really caring how he answered.
"Excuse me?" Ah, there was the danger. The threat. The malice. The I-am-a-blade-to-your-throatness that marked killers apart.
"'m not with Konoha," I said as I poured myself a glass, and began drinking, holding it with both hands to counteract the weakness of my childish frame. "If I was, I wouldn't be so sloppy. Really, I'm just looking for one thing."
"And what's that?" Some of the danger had drained out of Kazu's voice.
"A peer. Someone to talk to. Humans are social creatures, but the other children are closer to animals than they are to you or me. Exposing the fact that I've deconstructed that you were a spy seemed like an optimal method." After all, he couldn't afford to report me to the authorities, and he wouldn't want to anyway - why strengthen your enemy?
Kazu scoffed. "Yeah, if getting killed was your goal!" Shaking his head in something that I guessed was bewilderment, he said, "Fine. I'll accept you're not a Konoha plant, because this scenario makes even less sense if you aren't a random genius. I'm Fujioka Kazu, of Kiri, and now, I'm going to put a seal on you."
"You are going to try," I said, but walked over agreeably.
About thirty minutes later, and after a refreshing conversation about the current geopolitical situation that was by far more informative than what I had been able to attain in my first three years of experience, Kazu had finished his seal, and held his hand in a sign, mumbling fuin. There was a brief sensation of heat and constraint, and then a sound like shattering glass. As Kazu gaped, I spoke calmly.
"I am currently under contract with a god," I said, "I was to die in Uzushio, but agreed to destroy a certain demon in return for my life. The agreement involved a seal on my soul. Needless to say, mortal sealcraft construed as mental interference will not be tolerated." Thank you, Shinigami, I thought. I hadn't been given much to work with, but without this one thing, anything could've just happened to me.
As this passed through my mind, Kazu just stared at me, his face locked in a moment of sheer incredulity that he would probably consider a disgrace. Then, without warning, he slumped. "Bloody fuck," he muttered, "Of course it would be a god, of course you're a genius, and of course you're from Uzushio. I bet your real surname is Uzumaki."
And just like that, something actually interesting appeared. Even after three years, I hadn't been able to learn much about the shape of the world. The people on the streets were as ignorant as peasants, and save for the moment I discovered him, Kazu had payed his role well. "Uzumaki?" I asked.
Kazu made a vague gesture. "Sealing clan. Ran Uzushio. Made a contract with Shinigami."
"Ah," I said, "I might be that. Not certain."
"It's likely," Kazu said, "You came out of Uzushiogakure." He sighed. "Worst thing about this situation is that I can't even extract you to Kiri. Fuckin' treehuggers watch the orphanages real close."
"Would Kiri help me achieve my mission better?" I asked. Of course, the answer was probably -
"Not really. But someone like you? A natural genius of your calibre? If you're not a leading general in Konoha's army in ten years... and I can't even kill you without pissing off a god. Wonderful. I need a drink. Do you want a drink?"
Given that the wavefunctions comprising my existence had nearly nothing to do with my brain anymore?
"Sure, why not?" I ignored his casual admission of thinking about killing me.
"Right," Kazu said, getting out of the chair and walking over to the kitchen. With an easy kind of grace that I had never seen in the man before, he got some sake out of the pantry, heated it, and served it. Without waiting for a toast, he knocked the first saucer of his drink back, and when he refilled, I raised my own saucer and said, "To... eternity."
Kazu glanced at me one eyebrow raised, and I flushed, embarrassed for no reason. I knocked back my own saucer, and relished the subtle burn of it as it trickled down my throat. As I placed my saucer back on the table, Kazu made to refill it but I waved him off. "Still a kid. That's probably more than enough to do me." Kazu shrugged, and partook of his third saucer much more slowly.
"So," he said as he finished, "A mission from a god, huh?"
I nodded, and lied. "Commissioned by Shinigami, enacted by Rinnegami. A certain shinobi invented an immortality technique that allows him to remember his past lives. This has had the effect of driving him utterly insane, and every time he reincarnates, there's a chance that the insanity propagates to uninvolved people. By not living one life, but all of them, he became a karmic demon, which they called a Samsara Breaker. If I kill him, instead of going through the normal process of rebirth, he will go directly to Shinigami, who will eat him, and my, but my inhibitions are lowered." I blinked, feigning surprise.. "I didn't expect it to hit me that quickly."
Kazu shrugged, indifferent to the entire bit about alcohol, then leant forward. "I'm going to give you some advice, Kaede."
"Shoot."
Kazu blinked.
"Shu... tou?" Had I said that in english? I had said that in english.
My inhibitions actually were lowered. Huh.
"I mean, go ahead."
Kazu frowned, but said, "The way you were talking made it pretty clear that you either don't know who your target is, or that that target could have already changed if he died and was reborn. That about right?"
I nodded.
"Okay," Kazu said, standing up, and beginning to pace, "You have a few options. First, this target was a shinobi in one of his lives: he's not going to be destroyed by civilian means. You need to become a ninja. But what type of ninja? Kiri is out, and you won't be allowed to leave the village until you're fourteen - too old to become an enemy shinobi - so you're going to have to become a Konoha-nin. At least nominally. Then, there are two branches: Standard and Elite. Standard is probably your best bet - there are lots of high-independence positions in the standard forces, but elites are the ones who get access to Konoha's actual jutsu, and not the stuff that anyone knows. In return, it's harder, more lethal. Loss of Elite Genin had been Konoha's biggest problem for decades."
"You know quite a bit," I said, the observation casual. The look I got in return contained a not insignificant amount of derision.
"I'm a spy, Kaede-chan. Knowing is what I do."
I nodded, acknowledging the point. "Then, why are you helping me?"
Kazu huffed out an amused breath. "Well, at least you're as suspicious as you should be. I'm helping you because it helps a god. I don't buy into all that crap about 'sacred duties' or whatever, but I figure it can't hurt me to do my part. And anyway, it sounds like this, what did you call it? Karmic demon?"
I nodded, and Kazu continued, "It definitely sounds like a threat to Kiri, too. Unless I get orders otherwise, why wouldn't I help?"
That was... perfectly rational. I examined it again, looking for a trap, but found none. It made sense, and slowly, I nodded. "All right. I think I believe you. So. Shinobi. Gotta say, I was already considering it. Supernal abilities are one hell of a force multiplier. But I'm curious as to one thing, Kazu-san."
"Shuto." I did not facepalm.
"You've told me why you're helping me. But... What's your endgame?"
Kazu blinked. Then, he burst out laughing.
"Gods and silence, you really are a kid. You know that that question just invites a lie, right?" I shrugged.
"Sure, but if I were someone acting in opposition to this village, I would aim to develop a good working relationship with an unexpected asset. Who knows? One day she might find Konoha not to her liking - and then what might happen?"
Instantly, Kazu's expression grew serious. "Are you offering to defect?"
I made a cutting gesture with my hand. "It's not defection if I was never loyal." I rose. "Well, think about it, anyway. My purpose in life was made clear to me from the beginning. I could use you, and depending on the future, I'm sure Kiri could use me. All I ask is a bit of support if the time comes."
After that, the conversation came to a close. Rather awkwardly, if I had to admit, but then, I had mostly forgotten what it meant to be human. This type of tit-for-tat was well within my abilities, but warmth and naturalness were things that I was going to have to work for.
Fortunately, I hadn't forgotten how to play things close to the chest.
I needed Kazu far more than he would never need me - and far more than even I realised, because there was one last part to my encounter with the administrators of the world that wasn't included in the last piece of my narrative.
"So tell me," I said, as we walked towards the ruins of a hospital, "In this instance of the world, did the wisteria lotus bloom?"
And I knew I had made a mistake. I knew, because the strange emotional silence that had been throughout the entirety of my conversation with the Shinigami came to an abrupt halt, and I had the sudden and absolute knowledge that the entirety of the world had turned its attention towards my death.
"Care to repeat that?" It was phrased as a question, but delivered as a command.
If I wanted to live there was only one option.
"Did -" I managed to force out, as the world clamped its grip around my throat like a vice, "- they find Tenma Chakra?"
And the pressure was gone.
"No," Shinigami said, "They did not. Samsara Breaker, I must apologise, but I have to alter the terms of our deal. With that, you have shown you know too much - far too much. I regret this, but if you want to live, I will have to seal your memories of this world." The god paused for a moment, then added, "All of them."
Unacceptable. "You might as well murder me and be done with it," I said, preparing for the same.
"...I might, would that your death laid on my paradigms. But this is not a quantum world, and I do not have the means. This is what I offer: Life without any memory of this world, and my seal on the completion of your task; Neither life nor death, but continuance in our world of Takamagahara, where your knowledge can do no harm. It would be comfortable. You would want for nothing - the world would respond to your every whim."
And that wasn't really a choice at all. Under my philosophy, Heaven and Hell were indistinguishable.
"If I leave the world," I proposed, "I will regain my memories."
The god stared at me for a long, long time, considering. At last -
"Acceptable. It will be so."
I took a deep breath.
"Then," I said, holding out my hand, "You have yourself a deal."
The god reached out, and clasped it.
"So be it."
At the time, I had no recollection of the agreement - those memories too, had been taken from me. All I knew, in the beginning, was that I knew nothing. And my hunger for knowing could have consumed worlds.
LexiconTenma Chakra - The Wisteria Lotus
A noncanon chakra type that, in another time, in another place, was used as the cornerstone of the civilisation that came before the advent of of the Sage and the Jyuubi. It violates the second law of thermodynamics. The civilisation that used it made a habit of casually rearranging the continents of Earth to suit the needs of the day. They had the technical capacity (though not the interest) to do the same to Laniakea.
My SI was using it as a spotcheck to see if s/he fell into Canon Naruto, or one of his/her AUs. The answer was a bit unexpected - Canon events, apparently, but some AU laws of metaphysics.
Of course, Kaede can't remember this because, ah, oops?
Note to self: DO NOT ASK GODS ABOUT HYPERWEAPONS.
Kaede's Immunity to Seals
I don't intend to write a power trip, so don't imagine that this is solely an advantage.
By literal divine providence, a shinobi pulled me from the wreckage of a hospital in the shattered remnant of Uzushiogakure, and took me to another place, named Konohagakure no Sato, the village hidden in leaves. There, under the shadow of something that vaguely resembled a partially complete echo of Mount Rushmore, I spent my first years. Not in the care of a loving family; but in an orphanage, and glad for it. The caretaker was an interesting man. One night I found him writing ciphertext, and that was when we came to know each other.
"Mn," I said, "Hey Kazu-san," as I walked past to get a glass of water. Kazu twitched.
"Kaede-chan?" He said my Konoha-given name with an undercurrent of tension colouring his voice. I climbed up onto the counter top and got a glass down. "What are you doing up?"
If what he was writing had been a legitimate report, then there should have been no particular worry. Hello, I thought.
"Evidently?" I said, scooting over to the tap, "Frightening you. Kiri or Iwa?" I asked, echoing the names of Konoha's prime enemies, without really caring how he answered.
"Excuse me?" Ah, there was the danger. The threat. The malice. The I-am-a-blade-to-your-throatness that marked killers apart.
"'m not with Konoha," I said as I poured myself a glass, and began drinking, holding it with both hands to counteract the weakness of my childish frame. "If I was, I wouldn't be so sloppy. Really, I'm just looking for one thing."
"And what's that?" Some of the danger had drained out of Kazu's voice.
"A peer. Someone to talk to. Humans are social creatures, but the other children are closer to animals than they are to you or me. Exposing the fact that I've deconstructed that you were a spy seemed like an optimal method." After all, he couldn't afford to report me to the authorities, and he wouldn't want to anyway - why strengthen your enemy?
Kazu scoffed. "Yeah, if getting killed was your goal!" Shaking his head in something that I guessed was bewilderment, he said, "Fine. I'll accept you're not a Konoha plant, because this scenario makes even less sense if you aren't a random genius. I'm Fujioka Kazu, of Kiri, and now, I'm going to put a seal on you."
"You are going to try," I said, but walked over agreeably.
About thirty minutes later, and after a refreshing conversation about the current geopolitical situation that was by far more informative than what I had been able to attain in my first three years of experience, Kazu had finished his seal, and held his hand in a sign, mumbling fuin. There was a brief sensation of heat and constraint, and then a sound like shattering glass. As Kazu gaped, I spoke calmly.
"I am currently under contract with a god," I said, "I was to die in Uzushio, but agreed to destroy a certain demon in return for my life. The agreement involved a seal on my soul. Needless to say, mortal sealcraft construed as mental interference will not be tolerated." Thank you, Shinigami, I thought. I hadn't been given much to work with, but without this one thing, anything could've just happened to me.
As this passed through my mind, Kazu just stared at me, his face locked in a moment of sheer incredulity that he would probably consider a disgrace. Then, without warning, he slumped. "Bloody fuck," he muttered, "Of course it would be a god, of course you're a genius, and of course you're from Uzushio. I bet your real surname is Uzumaki."
And just like that, something actually interesting appeared. Even after three years, I hadn't been able to learn much about the shape of the world. The people on the streets were as ignorant as peasants, and save for the moment I discovered him, Kazu had payed his role well. "Uzumaki?" I asked.
Kazu made a vague gesture. "Sealing clan. Ran Uzushio. Made a contract with Shinigami."
"Ah," I said, "I might be that. Not certain."
"It's likely," Kazu said, "You came out of Uzushiogakure." He sighed. "Worst thing about this situation is that I can't even extract you to Kiri. Fuckin' treehuggers watch the orphanages real close."
"Would Kiri help me achieve my mission better?" I asked. Of course, the answer was probably -
"Not really. But someone like you? A natural genius of your calibre? If you're not a leading general in Konoha's army in ten years... and I can't even kill you without pissing off a god. Wonderful. I need a drink. Do you want a drink?"
Given that the wavefunctions comprising my existence had nearly nothing to do with my brain anymore?
"Sure, why not?" I ignored his casual admission of thinking about killing me.
"Right," Kazu said, getting out of the chair and walking over to the kitchen. With an easy kind of grace that I had never seen in the man before, he got some sake out of the pantry, heated it, and served it. Without waiting for a toast, he knocked the first saucer of his drink back, and when he refilled, I raised my own saucer and said, "To... eternity."
Kazu glanced at me one eyebrow raised, and I flushed, embarrassed for no reason. I knocked back my own saucer, and relished the subtle burn of it as it trickled down my throat. As I placed my saucer back on the table, Kazu made to refill it but I waved him off. "Still a kid. That's probably more than enough to do me." Kazu shrugged, and partook of his third saucer much more slowly.
"So," he said as he finished, "A mission from a god, huh?"
I nodded, and lied. "Commissioned by Shinigami, enacted by Rinnegami. A certain shinobi invented an immortality technique that allows him to remember his past lives. This has had the effect of driving him utterly insane, and every time he reincarnates, there's a chance that the insanity propagates to uninvolved people. By not living one life, but all of them, he became a karmic demon, which they called a Samsara Breaker. If I kill him, instead of going through the normal process of rebirth, he will go directly to Shinigami, who will eat him, and my, but my inhibitions are lowered." I blinked, feigning surprise.. "I didn't expect it to hit me that quickly."
Kazu shrugged, indifferent to the entire bit about alcohol, then leant forward. "I'm going to give you some advice, Kaede."
"Shoot."
Kazu blinked.
"Shu... tou?" Had I said that in english? I had said that in english.
My inhibitions actually were lowered. Huh.
"I mean, go ahead."
Kazu frowned, but said, "The way you were talking made it pretty clear that you either don't know who your target is, or that that target could have already changed if he died and was reborn. That about right?"
I nodded.
"Okay," Kazu said, standing up, and beginning to pace, "You have a few options. First, this target was a shinobi in one of his lives: he's not going to be destroyed by civilian means. You need to become a ninja. But what type of ninja? Kiri is out, and you won't be allowed to leave the village until you're fourteen - too old to become an enemy shinobi - so you're going to have to become a Konoha-nin. At least nominally. Then, there are two branches: Standard and Elite. Standard is probably your best bet - there are lots of high-independence positions in the standard forces, but elites are the ones who get access to Konoha's actual jutsu, and not the stuff that anyone knows. In return, it's harder, more lethal. Loss of Elite Genin had been Konoha's biggest problem for decades."
"You know quite a bit," I said, the observation casual. The look I got in return contained a not insignificant amount of derision.
"I'm a spy, Kaede-chan. Knowing is what I do."
I nodded, acknowledging the point. "Then, why are you helping me?"
Kazu huffed out an amused breath. "Well, at least you're as suspicious as you should be. I'm helping you because it helps a god. I don't buy into all that crap about 'sacred duties' or whatever, but I figure it can't hurt me to do my part. And anyway, it sounds like this, what did you call it? Karmic demon?"
I nodded, and Kazu continued, "It definitely sounds like a threat to Kiri, too. Unless I get orders otherwise, why wouldn't I help?"
That was... perfectly rational. I examined it again, looking for a trap, but found none. It made sense, and slowly, I nodded. "All right. I think I believe you. So. Shinobi. Gotta say, I was already considering it. Supernal abilities are one hell of a force multiplier. But I'm curious as to one thing, Kazu-san."
"Shuto." I did not facepalm.
"You've told me why you're helping me. But... What's your endgame?"
Kazu blinked. Then, he burst out laughing.
"Gods and silence, you really are a kid. You know that that question just invites a lie, right?" I shrugged.
"Sure, but if I were someone acting in opposition to this village, I would aim to develop a good working relationship with an unexpected asset. Who knows? One day she might find Konoha not to her liking - and then what might happen?"
Instantly, Kazu's expression grew serious. "Are you offering to defect?"
I made a cutting gesture with my hand. "It's not defection if I was never loyal." I rose. "Well, think about it, anyway. My purpose in life was made clear to me from the beginning. I could use you, and depending on the future, I'm sure Kiri could use me. All I ask is a bit of support if the time comes."
After that, the conversation came to a close. Rather awkwardly, if I had to admit, but then, I had mostly forgotten what it meant to be human. This type of tit-for-tat was well within my abilities, but warmth and naturalness were things that I was going to have to work for.
Fortunately, I hadn't forgotten how to play things close to the chest.
I needed Kazu far more than he would never need me - and far more than even I realised, because there was one last part to my encounter with the administrators of the world that wasn't included in the last piece of my narrative.
Uzushio Burning - Three Years Prior
"So tell me," I said, as we walked towards the ruins of a hospital, "In this instance of the world, did the wisteria lotus bloom?"
And I knew I had made a mistake. I knew, because the strange emotional silence that had been throughout the entirety of my conversation with the Shinigami came to an abrupt halt, and I had the sudden and absolute knowledge that the entirety of the world had turned its attention towards my death.
"Care to repeat that?" It was phrased as a question, but delivered as a command.
If I wanted to live there was only one option.
"Did -" I managed to force out, as the world clamped its grip around my throat like a vice, "- they find Tenma Chakra?"
And the pressure was gone.
"No," Shinigami said, "They did not. Samsara Breaker, I must apologise, but I have to alter the terms of our deal. With that, you have shown you know too much - far too much. I regret this, but if you want to live, I will have to seal your memories of this world." The god paused for a moment, then added, "All of them."
Unacceptable. "You might as well murder me and be done with it," I said, preparing for the same.
"...I might, would that your death laid on my paradigms. But this is not a quantum world, and I do not have the means. This is what I offer: Life without any memory of this world, and my seal on the completion of your task; Neither life nor death, but continuance in our world of Takamagahara, where your knowledge can do no harm. It would be comfortable. You would want for nothing - the world would respond to your every whim."
And that wasn't really a choice at all. Under my philosophy, Heaven and Hell were indistinguishable.
"If I leave the world," I proposed, "I will regain my memories."
The god stared at me for a long, long time, considering. At last -
"Acceptable. It will be so."
I took a deep breath.
"Then," I said, holding out my hand, "You have yourself a deal."
The god reached out, and clasped it.
"So be it."
At the time, I had no recollection of the agreement - those memories too, had been taken from me. All I knew, in the beginning, was that I knew nothing. And my hunger for knowing could have consumed worlds.
SNI
Lexicon
A noncanon chakra type that, in another time, in another place, was used as the cornerstone of the civilisation that came before the advent of of the Sage and the Jyuubi. It violates the second law of thermodynamics. The civilisation that used it made a habit of casually rearranging the continents of Earth to suit the needs of the day. They had the technical capacity (though not the interest) to do the same to Laniakea.
My SI was using it as a spotcheck to see if s/he fell into Canon Naruto, or one of his/her AUs. The answer was a bit unexpected - Canon events, apparently, but some AU laws of metaphysics.
Of course, Kaede can't remember this because, ah, oops?
Note to self: DO NOT ASK GODS ABOUT HYPERWEAPONS.
Kaede's Immunity to Seals
I don't intend to write a power trip, so don't imagine that this is solely an advantage.
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Unlocking
Endfall
A zero on the singularity.
- Location
- Somewhere else.
- Pronouns
- She/They
Later that night, I sat awake on the bunk that had been assigned to me, and for the first time in the four years I had been here, found the energy to actually consider my situation.
It was... odd, really. I felt like this all should have met something to me. That I should have found my entire situation surprising, or absurd. I had died, and now, here I was, alive, and in another universe.
It should have awed me.
It should have shaken my worldview.
But I felt nothing. Looking back on my original world - Terra Res, I though, giving it a name - I had died without a reason to live, when everything came to an end. All that had remained in me was a reason not to die, and that, by itself, was not enough to make me care about my own continued existence. Not emotionally, at least.
Hence, the insane recklessness of introducing myself to Kazu.
"Jeeze," I muttered, curling up into myself, "What was I thinking?"
The question was rhetorical, but I knew the answer: I hadn't been.
Getting into the Academy didn't take long. While my age might've raised a few eyebrows in a culture world with a child soldier taboo, Konoha had nothing of the sort. If you had a working body, they would happily turn you into a weapon as long as you were able to speak with a certain minimum of coherence. I did, and so within a day, I was in. Unfortunately, the Elite string wasn't even an option for me - that class was composed entirely of clan heads, according to the admissions officer. If it was a lie, I couldn't tell.
The day after I matriculated, I walked into a classroom, and was made to give a brief introduction.
"Akino Kaede," I said, and that was all. I didn't plan on getting to know anyone, here. There was no point. Most of them would be dead in a few years, given the war, and I had my own problems to deal with.
I spent the rest of the day listening to a basic lecture on the properties of chakra, which were fairly simple inasmuch as the lecture was designed for children who were two years older than my biological age. In this world, the human body generated mental and physical energy - named in and yō. In civilians, these were separate things. The first step to becoming a shinobi was finding them, and mixing them together irrevocably. Doing this, the undifferentiated energy that resulted would become chakra.
Surprisingly, the basic exercise that did this was mind-numbingly simple - a bit of goal oriented zen meditation. While I had never made a discipline of meditating, it still wasn't even something recognizable as a challenge - for someone with an adult mind, anyway. As the rest of the class squirmed, and figeted, I sat still, and let all things pass. After about an hour, I reached the boundary of meditative ego death and slammed into a wall.
Normally, when all thoughts completed themselves, my awareness would begin to flicker. Timeless gaps of being without the concept of "I" would appear until, in one of the gaps where I had the flickering of a selfconcept, I would decide to end the meditation, and usually feel somewhat refreshed if not particularly enlightened. Not so, here. While I might've lost my concept of self, the intrusion of two distinct things that had nothing to do with the external world stopped me. I was used to my heartbeat, the feeling of potential in my muscles, the rhythm of breathing.
These two sensations were completely new, and did not belong.
One felt like burning darkness. The other, concealing light. Obvious sensory metaphors for Yin and Yang.
All that was left was to muddle the Taiji.
With an instinct that I had never had in my first life, and which was, therefore, something that belonged entirely to the part of me that was Akino Kaede, I threw the two sensations through each other. From my heart, a slow, aching burn propagated throughout my body. I opened my eyes, wincing slightly at the pain, and met the instructor's - Ueda Rokurou's - eyes. A frown marred his face, as he stood up, made the universal gesture of follow me, and walked out the classroom's door. Quitley, so as not to disturb the children, I got up, and followed.
In the hallway, Rokurou asked a simple question: "How do you feel, Kaede-chan?"
"Hurts," I said, with the masterful syntax of a typical child. After considering for an instant, I added, "Did I do something wrong, sensei?"
"That's unlikely," Rokurou replied. "Where did the pain start?"
I tapped my sternum, and Rokurou's eyebrows rose fractionally before he killed the expression.
"You've unlocked your chakra," he said, then murmured something I didn't quite catch. After a moment, he continued, "Well, you've graduated from this class, Kaede-chan. Go to room 203 tommorrow, instead. You can go home."
Without so much as a goodbye, Rokurou turned, and walked back into the classroom, sliding the door shut behind him. I walked out.
"You what!?" Kazu's reaction was far less restrained.
"Unlocked my chakra," I said. "I take it that an hour isn't particularly normal."
"Two months is normal, Uzumaki," Kazu had taken to calling me by the name of the clan he thought I was a member of. After reading a book he had checked our from the civilian library, I didn't exactly blame him. My hair wasn't precisely crimson, but it was a good deal more red than I had seen on anyone else, and I had been paying attention. For the first years of my life, people-watching had been my only source of entertainment.
It didn't bother me. Names are just labels. Convenient, but not particularly necessary.
"Still," Kazu began, and I abandoned my line of thought to focus on him, "I can't exactly say I'm surprised. Your clan always was famous for their vitality. Sage's blood, though, you aren't planning on being low-key, are you?"
"Low key?" I cocked my head. "Why would I care about that? I couldn't get in to the Elite class, so if I can do things faster than a normal child, maybe they'll realise that I'm wasted as a piece of the meat grinder at their frontiers."
"I suppose..." Kazu said, voice trailing off uncertainly. "Listen. Being a genius? That's good. Konoha loves their geniuses. But... They also don't really trust them, after Madara."
"Who is...?"
"Was." Kazu corrected. "Madara Uchiha was probably one of the single strongest Shinobi in Konoha's history. Flames that could burn stone for seven days and seven nights. Crushing space. Controlling Bijuu. A monster in the shape of a man. He was also the greatest traitor in the history of the village. And... the geniuses of Konoha disproportionately are. Probably because they could see the will of fire as the shoddy piece of indoctrination that it really is."
"Ah," I said. Not that Kazu was a reliable source vis-a-vis anything Konoha, but... "Will of fire?"
"You'll probably begin hearing about it sometime this week," said Kazu. "Basically, Senju Hashirama decided to build a superpower by subjugating clans under the ideal of strength through unity."
"Which was bad because..."
"Because it didn't work. Hundreds of years of enmity, and he expected it to go away because of some pretty words? Feh. No, the system that the Shodaime built was a ploy for something else: establishing the supremacy of the Senju clan in Hinokuni."
I nodded, as if simply accepting his words as an obvious truth.
"Well, whatever," Kazu said with not inconsiderable derision. "It succeeded, so I guess I can't condemn the man's brilliance. The problem was what it forced the other countries to do. Tell me, what does it feel like when you walk to their Shinobi Academy?"
I blinked, then thought about it. After a moment, I answered, "It feels like I'm just going for a walk, usually."
Kazu nodded, as if he expected the answer. "Exactly. Konoha was planned from the beginning. in the other villages, even Kiri, you can feel the tensions. Even Konoha still has a hell of a lot of problems - just last year, some Inuzuka went on a murder spree in the Aburame compound due to a generational grudge. She made some romantic overtures, got inside, and... well, you get the idea. Before, it wouldn't have worked. No trust. But the villages made that possible.
"That's Konoha. The real problem is that all the other major powers were forced to inaugurate their own hidden villages, and it was a knee-jerk reaction. Tens of thousands died. Dozens of clans were lost in every country, except for Hinokuni. The Hokage was a genius."
It wasn't a compliment.
The conversation degenerated after that point, with rhetoric and invective being the ordes of the day. Something about the entire situation was personal to Kazu. Maybe he had been - was - a member of one of the decimated clans? I didn't know. I didn't ask. Instead, I simply listened, nodding and making appropriate sounds as I consumed his perspective. After about an hour, his anger petered out, and I excused myself.
Tomorrow would be an interesting day.
Resian
Adjective. Def. Of or pertaining to the world which contains the Earth of Kaede's origin.
I could go on using "the quantum worlds", "the world of my birth" and other overwrought terms, but I hope we can agree that Resian forms a nice alternative that keeps things moving, and which doesn't assign undue importance to every single reference to the original world.
Taiji
A concept commonly represented by the Yin-Yang. No, not the thing in my avatar. That's representative of something else entirely.
Notes.
When Kaede is doing well, 90% of it can be attributed to her being a questionably sane adult. Any child capable of meditating porperly would have found unlocking their chakra similarly easy; children that are, on average, eight suck at meditating. From thus.
It was... odd, really. I felt like this all should have met something to me. That I should have found my entire situation surprising, or absurd. I had died, and now, here I was, alive, and in another universe.
It should have awed me.
It should have shaken my worldview.
But I felt nothing. Looking back on my original world - Terra Res, I though, giving it a name - I had died without a reason to live, when everything came to an end. All that had remained in me was a reason not to die, and that, by itself, was not enough to make me care about my own continued existence. Not emotionally, at least.
Hence, the insane recklessness of introducing myself to Kazu.
"Jeeze," I muttered, curling up into myself, "What was I thinking?"
The question was rhetorical, but I knew the answer: I hadn't been.
SNI
Getting into the Academy didn't take long. While my age might've raised a few eyebrows in a culture world with a child soldier taboo, Konoha had nothing of the sort. If you had a working body, they would happily turn you into a weapon as long as you were able to speak with a certain minimum of coherence. I did, and so within a day, I was in. Unfortunately, the Elite string wasn't even an option for me - that class was composed entirely of clan heads, according to the admissions officer. If it was a lie, I couldn't tell.
The day after I matriculated, I walked into a classroom, and was made to give a brief introduction.
"Akino Kaede," I said, and that was all. I didn't plan on getting to know anyone, here. There was no point. Most of them would be dead in a few years, given the war, and I had my own problems to deal with.
I spent the rest of the day listening to a basic lecture on the properties of chakra, which were fairly simple inasmuch as the lecture was designed for children who were two years older than my biological age. In this world, the human body generated mental and physical energy - named in and yō. In civilians, these were separate things. The first step to becoming a shinobi was finding them, and mixing them together irrevocably. Doing this, the undifferentiated energy that resulted would become chakra.
Surprisingly, the basic exercise that did this was mind-numbingly simple - a bit of goal oriented zen meditation. While I had never made a discipline of meditating, it still wasn't even something recognizable as a challenge - for someone with an adult mind, anyway. As the rest of the class squirmed, and figeted, I sat still, and let all things pass. After about an hour, I reached the boundary of meditative ego death and slammed into a wall.
Normally, when all thoughts completed themselves, my awareness would begin to flicker. Timeless gaps of being without the concept of "I" would appear until, in one of the gaps where I had the flickering of a selfconcept, I would decide to end the meditation, and usually feel somewhat refreshed if not particularly enlightened. Not so, here. While I might've lost my concept of self, the intrusion of two distinct things that had nothing to do with the external world stopped me. I was used to my heartbeat, the feeling of potential in my muscles, the rhythm of breathing.
These two sensations were completely new, and did not belong.
One felt like burning darkness. The other, concealing light. Obvious sensory metaphors for Yin and Yang.
All that was left was to muddle the Taiji.
With an instinct that I had never had in my first life, and which was, therefore, something that belonged entirely to the part of me that was Akino Kaede, I threw the two sensations through each other. From my heart, a slow, aching burn propagated throughout my body. I opened my eyes, wincing slightly at the pain, and met the instructor's - Ueda Rokurou's - eyes. A frown marred his face, as he stood up, made the universal gesture of follow me, and walked out the classroom's door. Quitley, so as not to disturb the children, I got up, and followed.
In the hallway, Rokurou asked a simple question: "How do you feel, Kaede-chan?"
"Hurts," I said, with the masterful syntax of a typical child. After considering for an instant, I added, "Did I do something wrong, sensei?"
"That's unlikely," Rokurou replied. "Where did the pain start?"
I tapped my sternum, and Rokurou's eyebrows rose fractionally before he killed the expression.
"You've unlocked your chakra," he said, then murmured something I didn't quite catch. After a moment, he continued, "Well, you've graduated from this class, Kaede-chan. Go to room 203 tommorrow, instead. You can go home."
Without so much as a goodbye, Rokurou turned, and walked back into the classroom, sliding the door shut behind him. I walked out.
"You what!?" Kazu's reaction was far less restrained.
"Unlocked my chakra," I said. "I take it that an hour isn't particularly normal."
"Two months is normal, Uzumaki," Kazu had taken to calling me by the name of the clan he thought I was a member of. After reading a book he had checked our from the civilian library, I didn't exactly blame him. My hair wasn't precisely crimson, but it was a good deal more red than I had seen on anyone else, and I had been paying attention. For the first years of my life, people-watching had been my only source of entertainment.
It didn't bother me. Names are just labels. Convenient, but not particularly necessary.
"Still," Kazu began, and I abandoned my line of thought to focus on him, "I can't exactly say I'm surprised. Your clan always was famous for their vitality. Sage's blood, though, you aren't planning on being low-key, are you?"
"Low key?" I cocked my head. "Why would I care about that? I couldn't get in to the Elite class, so if I can do things faster than a normal child, maybe they'll realise that I'm wasted as a piece of the meat grinder at their frontiers."
"I suppose..." Kazu said, voice trailing off uncertainly. "Listen. Being a genius? That's good. Konoha loves their geniuses. But... They also don't really trust them, after Madara."
"Who is...?"
"Was." Kazu corrected. "Madara Uchiha was probably one of the single strongest Shinobi in Konoha's history. Flames that could burn stone for seven days and seven nights. Crushing space. Controlling Bijuu. A monster in the shape of a man. He was also the greatest traitor in the history of the village. And... the geniuses of Konoha disproportionately are. Probably because they could see the will of fire as the shoddy piece of indoctrination that it really is."
"Ah," I said. Not that Kazu was a reliable source vis-a-vis anything Konoha, but... "Will of fire?"
"You'll probably begin hearing about it sometime this week," said Kazu. "Basically, Senju Hashirama decided to build a superpower by subjugating clans under the ideal of strength through unity."
"Which was bad because..."
"Because it didn't work. Hundreds of years of enmity, and he expected it to go away because of some pretty words? Feh. No, the system that the Shodaime built was a ploy for something else: establishing the supremacy of the Senju clan in Hinokuni."
I nodded, as if simply accepting his words as an obvious truth.
"Well, whatever," Kazu said with not inconsiderable derision. "It succeeded, so I guess I can't condemn the man's brilliance. The problem was what it forced the other countries to do. Tell me, what does it feel like when you walk to their Shinobi Academy?"
I blinked, then thought about it. After a moment, I answered, "It feels like I'm just going for a walk, usually."
Kazu nodded, as if he expected the answer. "Exactly. Konoha was planned from the beginning. in the other villages, even Kiri, you can feel the tensions. Even Konoha still has a hell of a lot of problems - just last year, some Inuzuka went on a murder spree in the Aburame compound due to a generational grudge. She made some romantic overtures, got inside, and... well, you get the idea. Before, it wouldn't have worked. No trust. But the villages made that possible.
"That's Konoha. The real problem is that all the other major powers were forced to inaugurate their own hidden villages, and it was a knee-jerk reaction. Tens of thousands died. Dozens of clans were lost in every country, except for Hinokuni. The Hokage was a genius."
It wasn't a compliment.
The conversation degenerated after that point, with rhetoric and invective being the ordes of the day. Something about the entire situation was personal to Kazu. Maybe he had been - was - a member of one of the decimated clans? I didn't know. I didn't ask. Instead, I simply listened, nodding and making appropriate sounds as I consumed his perspective. After about an hour, his anger petered out, and I excused myself.
Tomorrow would be an interesting day.
SNI
Lexicon
Resian
Adjective. Def. Of or pertaining to the world which contains the Earth of Kaede's origin.
I could go on using "the quantum worlds", "the world of my birth" and other overwrought terms, but I hope we can agree that Resian forms a nice alternative that keeps things moving, and which doesn't assign undue importance to every single reference to the original world.
Taiji
A concept commonly represented by the Yin-Yang. No, not the thing in my avatar. That's representative of something else entirely.
Notes.
When Kaede is doing well, 90% of it can be attributed to her being a questionably sane adult. Any child capable of meditating porperly would have found unlocking their chakra similarly easy; children that are, on average, eight suck at meditating. From thus.
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Reduction to the Absurd
Endfall
A zero on the singularity.
- Location
- Somewhere else.
- Pronouns
- She/They
Let me paint a picture for you.
There is a world, where men created their own gods. Those gods, by the grace of their design, made great, artificial worlds, where anything could be. All that was open to experience was made perfect, and all that was perfect was provided free. Such was their benevolence. Such was their design.
Is that world not heaven? Of course it wasn't. The kindest thing gods ever did for us was not existing. Being was the cruelest, but oh, we shackled them well.
Math had been called the supreme achievement of the human spirit, once. While the sentiment was poorly articulated, the meaning behind it—that mathematics was what distinguished humanity from animals—was true. It was more than a little shocking to find out that, in this world, I had more in common with the animals than the humans.
The first days in the Shinobi Academy's proper classes consisted of primer-level material. Basic kanji, hiragana, katakana, otogana—the last was the only system I had to devote time to. It was a cursive shorthand used in sealing techniques. We also covered basic maths, propagandised history, and so forth. Did you know that Hashirama Senju was Treesus Christ? After the fortieth story of his total awesomeness, I sure did.
Madara Uchiha wasn't mentioned at all. He wasn't just a bad memory—as far as Konohagakure was concerned, the man had never existed. You could see traces of him, though, in the way that Senju Akagai-sensei's eyes narrowed when he spoke Uchiha Otofumi's name in the role call. Madara wasn't mentioned at all. But he wasn't forgotten.
It was only after a week engaged in that routine that I gained the first inkling that something was, well, not wrong, but very, very different. I was almost dozing at the time.
"And so by using telation, the properties of three can be given to five, thus rendering five divisible by it. The result is a secondary number that..." My head snapped up as I came to full awareness. Akagai's eyes narrowed at the display, but he made nothing of it—
Was telation integer division?
"...don't really expect you to understand it, the actual basis of numbers is a bit far ahead of the class, and unimportant unless you want to get into jutsu creation. Nevertheless, I expect you to do the homework and be familiar with the procedure by tomorrow. You will be tested. Class dismissed."
I did not ask the question. Instead, I left with the rest of the students, and returned to the place that I slept at.
"Kaz'-san," I said as I walked in. The children were still up, and even though they had already realised that I was not like them, it really, really wouldn't do to act like a true[false] adult[genius]. Being seen as a genius was good. Being seen as a research concern wasn't. "Hows telation work?"
Kazu, for his part, was in the middle of breaking up a fight between Hibiki and Saya, two children who probably wouldn't ever become important enough to bother being concerned about. Given this, his response was as expected: "Don't have time now, Kaede-chan. Ask later!"
I did. Kazu's explanation, though, was completely unintelligible.
But it wasn't because it was math above my head. No. As I said, the things we were currently being taught were the basics of the basics, and I knew far more than those. I had had to—in the end, the endless marches of patterns and paradigms that existed in them had been the only thing of novelty left. The other paths embedded in the concept of homo universalis had faded as I had grown older and more bitter by slow and subtle degrees.
The level of math taught in children's class should have been nothing to me—but it wasn't.
It wasn't because I couldn't understand the concepts.
It wasn't because they were thought about in different ways.
It wasn't even because Kazu had made a mistake in his explanation.
It was because what he offered me was something that I knew was utterly impossible under any developed system of axioms that I knew of. It was a fantastic description of a magical process that should not ever have worked. It violated theorems so fundamental that they existed in the without of anything that humans would have considered numbers. It violated identities and truths so absolute that, if it had worked in what Shinigami had called the quantum worlds, reality itself would have been invalid, and by that nature would have invalidated itself: reduction ad absurdum.
But it was valid.
Here, it valid, and the world remained.
The implication was simple: It wasn't that math was different here.
Reality itself was.
For the first time, I understood just how far from Reality I had truly gone.
I nodded, thanked Kazu for his explanation, and managed to suppress the panic attack until I was up in my dorm, and then spent about an hour hyperventilating while intermittently screaming into my pillow until someone kicked me in the side. Lashing out blindly, I ran to the window, slipped out, and dropped into the street with what with grace no six year old child should have posessed.
I didn't care; it didn't matter. Nothing did! I ran blindly through the village, my heart thundering so fast it should have torn itself out of my chest Ineededtofleetoescapetoceaseto.
not. be. me.
Impossible. I will be I until I die, and I will die never.
The cold of that truth broke the blind panic that had cleaved my perception and senses in twain. I found myself in the middle of a clearing, surrounded by trees that for all the utter impossiblilty of this world were, to my senses, no different from the trees of the world that had come before. Snarling wordlessly and suddenly furious, I lashed out, striking one over, and over, and over again.
Nothing left.
I had nothing left.
Everything I knew was a lie.
Everything.
All of it!
The only thing that was left in the silent years before the Transcension was math. Everything else—everything else—was reduced to a pattern of neuronal firing, inspired by the same. There were computers that could create music that was, for one specific listener the most utterly beautiful thing in the world—transcendent of all other music. Music that would constantly evolve as a person evolved, and grew, and changed, always maintaining that utter and transhuman perfection, but never, ever perfect for anyone but the intended listener.
Humanity had solved music in the narrowest sense possible. One by one, other fields were solved as well. Culture died. All the great works were forgotten, because before the absolute perfection of the new, computer-generated Transcendental Arts why would you ever bother? A perfect story would make its reader sad when they subconsciously needed to be sad, happy when happiness was called for. They made them laugh when they got bored, but always found enough of a pause that there never was a moment where the reader couldn't stop if they felt they needed to put the book down. That was music. That was literature. That was art!
Solved, and always conforming utterly and precisely to your spoken and unspoken desires and expectations.
This is your soul, the algorithms said, and we have parsed it.
I had lost everything to humanity's rise. What chance did I have, when even the greatest among us became nonentities? A story known to no one wasn't a story. It was a secret. And a keeper of unspoken secrets was not something I had ever wanted to be.
Only one place remained. The maths. They couldn't be perfected, because by their nature, they were already perfected. They couldn't be invented, because the point of the maths was the discovery. They couldn't be conveyed, because the ideas represented in their notation could not be simply understood—it took time, and effort, and dedication.
They were the one format that could not truly be automated.
And they were all that I had left.
I spent the last years of my life towards nothing but the utter pursuit of absolute knowledge because everything else had failed.
And it had been given to me at a stroke that the only thing at the bottom of reality was meaningless chaos. There was no basis! There was nothing, nothing, nothing that could relate the concepts of this world to the ones I had known, and that suggested that the only true system of reality was incoherence—crystallised from the chaos, on the edge of the breakdown of the primordial gap—
—no beauty, no structure, no truth, no form—
—everything was true/everything was false, and the only thing that determined what and which was where you were. What point was there in studying static?
What in the world was to be gained from knowing a map of noise!?
I began laughing deliriously, enraptured and enraged simultaneously, until, spent, I stumbled and fell backwards, knuckles bleeding everywhere.
Everything I knew was a lie. All of it, from the ground up, was invalid. Even thus, even so, the world was here, and that above all was the proof that all of what I had been shown was real.
"Damn it," I muttered, lifting one burning, throbbing hand up, covering my eyes, but not the tears that had come from them. "It never ends." And I couldn't even tell you what emotion was attached to that statement. Elation, weariness, anticipation, desperation, despair—it all blended together into one ceaseless melange of all, and nothing in between.
"No, it doesn't, does it?" The voice, spoken in English with a rich, cultured accent shocked me to my feet.
Before me stood a man dressed in the fashion of latter-day Earth.
Before me stood the most dangerous being in the world.
Before me stood the Samsara Breaker.
The Math of the Shinobi Rikugou
I'm not even going to try to explain this in depth. Why? Because definitionally, it can't be explained in our reality. The Axioms that our math, our logic, and our universe flow from do not allow the coherent explanation of what is happening here.
That said, some essential properties are as follows: Five sets of integers, no such thing as fractions/reals/irrationals, and a geometry that is inherently and entirely appoximate—calculating even simple areas requires the rough equivalent of an infinite series, which is then appropriately scaled to match the object in question via a series of telations that also produce other relevant information (such as relative chakra composition, useful in onyoujutsu) as a side effect.
Telation is from the Greek word Telos. It is, explicitly, the operation that connects the abstract domain of this multiverse's math to the physical world. It is a translation[approximation] of a term that does not translate.
A common philosophical position in the world that Kaede currently lives in is that the difference between nature and artifice is that natural creations are infinitely correct. This is to say that the infinite series analogues that underlie their form are fully iterated, whereas human creations rely on partially-iterated approximations of the truth—but this is a subtle concern, not commonly in the awareness of Shinobi. An academic matter, really.
It should be noted that every single term used here is at best inexact and at worst utterly inaccurate. As I said, the true nature of what it is can't be explained.
There is a world, where men created their own gods. Those gods, by the grace of their design, made great, artificial worlds, where anything could be. All that was open to experience was made perfect, and all that was perfect was provided free. Such was their benevolence. Such was their design.
Is that world not heaven? Of course it wasn't. The kindest thing gods ever did for us was not existing. Being was the cruelest, but oh, we shackled them well.
SNI
Math had been called the supreme achievement of the human spirit, once. While the sentiment was poorly articulated, the meaning behind it—that mathematics was what distinguished humanity from animals—was true. It was more than a little shocking to find out that, in this world, I had more in common with the animals than the humans.
The first days in the Shinobi Academy's proper classes consisted of primer-level material. Basic kanji, hiragana, katakana, otogana—the last was the only system I had to devote time to. It was a cursive shorthand used in sealing techniques. We also covered basic maths, propagandised history, and so forth. Did you know that Hashirama Senju was Treesus Christ? After the fortieth story of his total awesomeness, I sure did.
Madara Uchiha wasn't mentioned at all. He wasn't just a bad memory—as far as Konohagakure was concerned, the man had never existed. You could see traces of him, though, in the way that Senju Akagai-sensei's eyes narrowed when he spoke Uchiha Otofumi's name in the role call. Madara wasn't mentioned at all. But he wasn't forgotten.
It was only after a week engaged in that routine that I gained the first inkling that something was, well, not wrong, but very, very different. I was almost dozing at the time.
"And so by using telation, the properties of three can be given to five, thus rendering five divisible by it. The result is a secondary number that..." My head snapped up as I came to full awareness. Akagai's eyes narrowed at the display, but he made nothing of it—
Was telation integer division?
"...don't really expect you to understand it, the actual basis of numbers is a bit far ahead of the class, and unimportant unless you want to get into jutsu creation. Nevertheless, I expect you to do the homework and be familiar with the procedure by tomorrow. You will be tested. Class dismissed."
I did not ask the question. Instead, I left with the rest of the students, and returned to the place that I slept at.
"Kaz'-san," I said as I walked in. The children were still up, and even though they had already realised that I was not like them, it really, really wouldn't do to act like a true[false] adult[genius]. Being seen as a genius was good. Being seen as a research concern wasn't. "Hows telation work?"
Kazu, for his part, was in the middle of breaking up a fight between Hibiki and Saya, two children who probably wouldn't ever become important enough to bother being concerned about. Given this, his response was as expected: "Don't have time now, Kaede-chan. Ask later!"
I did. Kazu's explanation, though, was completely unintelligible.
But it wasn't because it was math above my head. No. As I said, the things we were currently being taught were the basics of the basics, and I knew far more than those. I had had to—in the end, the endless marches of patterns and paradigms that existed in them had been the only thing of novelty left. The other paths embedded in the concept of homo universalis had faded as I had grown older and more bitter by slow and subtle degrees.
The level of math taught in children's class should have been nothing to me—but it wasn't.
It wasn't because I couldn't understand the concepts.
It wasn't because they were thought about in different ways.
It wasn't even because Kazu had made a mistake in his explanation.
It was because what he offered me was something that I knew was utterly impossible under any developed system of axioms that I knew of. It was a fantastic description of a magical process that should not ever have worked. It violated theorems so fundamental that they existed in the without of anything that humans would have considered numbers. It violated identities and truths so absolute that, if it had worked in what Shinigami had called the quantum worlds, reality itself would have been invalid, and by that nature would have invalidated itself: reduction ad absurdum.
But it was valid.
Here, it valid, and the world remained.
The implication was simple: It wasn't that math was different here.
Reality itself was.
For the first time, I understood just how far from Reality I had truly gone.
I nodded, thanked Kazu for his explanation, and managed to suppress the panic attack until I was up in my dorm, and then spent about an hour hyperventilating while intermittently screaming into my pillow until someone kicked me in the side. Lashing out blindly, I ran to the window, slipped out, and dropped into the street with what with grace no six year old child should have posessed.
I didn't care; it didn't matter. Nothing did! I ran blindly through the village, my heart thundering so fast it should have torn itself out of my chest Ineededtofleetoescapetoceaseto.
not. be. me.
Impossible. I will be I until I die, and I will die never.
The cold of that truth broke the blind panic that had cleaved my perception and senses in twain. I found myself in the middle of a clearing, surrounded by trees that for all the utter impossiblilty of this world were, to my senses, no different from the trees of the world that had come before. Snarling wordlessly and suddenly furious, I lashed out, striking one over, and over, and over again.
Nothing left.
I had nothing left.
Everything I knew was a lie.
Everything.
All of it!
The only thing that was left in the silent years before the Transcension was math. Everything else—everything else—was reduced to a pattern of neuronal firing, inspired by the same. There were computers that could create music that was, for one specific listener the most utterly beautiful thing in the world—transcendent of all other music. Music that would constantly evolve as a person evolved, and grew, and changed, always maintaining that utter and transhuman perfection, but never, ever perfect for anyone but the intended listener.
Humanity had solved music in the narrowest sense possible. One by one, other fields were solved as well. Culture died. All the great works were forgotten, because before the absolute perfection of the new, computer-generated Transcendental Arts why would you ever bother? A perfect story would make its reader sad when they subconsciously needed to be sad, happy when happiness was called for. They made them laugh when they got bored, but always found enough of a pause that there never was a moment where the reader couldn't stop if they felt they needed to put the book down. That was music. That was literature. That was art!
Solved, and always conforming utterly and precisely to your spoken and unspoken desires and expectations.
This is your soul, the algorithms said, and we have parsed it.
I had lost everything to humanity's rise. What chance did I have, when even the greatest among us became nonentities? A story known to no one wasn't a story. It was a secret. And a keeper of unspoken secrets was not something I had ever wanted to be.
Only one place remained. The maths. They couldn't be perfected, because by their nature, they were already perfected. They couldn't be invented, because the point of the maths was the discovery. They couldn't be conveyed, because the ideas represented in their notation could not be simply understood—it took time, and effort, and dedication.
They were the one format that could not truly be automated.
And they were all that I had left.
I spent the last years of my life towards nothing but the utter pursuit of absolute knowledge because everything else had failed.
And it had been given to me at a stroke that the only thing at the bottom of reality was meaningless chaos. There was no basis! There was nothing, nothing, nothing that could relate the concepts of this world to the ones I had known, and that suggested that the only true system of reality was incoherence—crystallised from the chaos, on the edge of the breakdown of the primordial gap—
—no beauty, no structure, no truth, no form—
—everything was true/everything was false, and the only thing that determined what and which was where you were. What point was there in studying static?
What in the world was to be gained from knowing a map of noise!?
I began laughing deliriously, enraptured and enraged simultaneously, until, spent, I stumbled and fell backwards, knuckles bleeding everywhere.
Everything I knew was a lie. All of it, from the ground up, was invalid. Even thus, even so, the world was here, and that above all was the proof that all of what I had been shown was real.
"Damn it," I muttered, lifting one burning, throbbing hand up, covering my eyes, but not the tears that had come from them. "It never ends." And I couldn't even tell you what emotion was attached to that statement. Elation, weariness, anticipation, desperation, despair—it all blended together into one ceaseless melange of all, and nothing in between.
"No, it doesn't, does it?" The voice, spoken in English with a rich, cultured accent shocked me to my feet.
Before me stood a man dressed in the fashion of latter-day Earth.
Before me stood the most dangerous being in the world.
Before me stood the Samsara Breaker.
Sha Nagba Imuru
Lexicon
The Math of the Shinobi Rikugou
I'm not even going to try to explain this in depth. Why? Because definitionally, it can't be explained in our reality. The Axioms that our math, our logic, and our universe flow from do not allow the coherent explanation of what is happening here.
That said, some essential properties are as follows: Five sets of integers, no such thing as fractions/reals/irrationals, and a geometry that is inherently and entirely appoximate—calculating even simple areas requires the rough equivalent of an infinite series, which is then appropriately scaled to match the object in question via a series of telations that also produce other relevant information (such as relative chakra composition, useful in onyoujutsu) as a side effect.
Telation is from the Greek word Telos. It is, explicitly, the operation that connects the abstract domain of this multiverse's math to the physical world. It is a translation[approximation] of a term that does not translate.
A common philosophical position in the world that Kaede currently lives in is that the difference between nature and artifice is that natural creations are infinitely correct. This is to say that the infinite series analogues that underlie their form are fully iterated, whereas human creations rely on partially-iterated approximations of the truth—but this is a subtle concern, not commonly in the awareness of Shinobi. An academic matter, really.
It should be noted that every single term used here is at best inexact and at worst utterly inaccurate. As I said, the true nature of what it is can't be explained.
Last edited:
Hajimemashite!
Endfall
A zero on the singularity.
- Location
- Somewhere else.
- Pronouns
- She/They
Let me paint a picture for you.
There is a world, where men created their own gods. Those gods, by the grace of their design, made great, artificial worlds, where anything could be. All that was open to experience was made perfect, and all that was perfect was provided free. Such was their benevolence. Such was their design.
Is that world not heaven? Of course it wasn't. The kindest thing gods ever did for us was not existing. Being was the cruelest, but oh, we shackled them well.
Math had been called the supreme achievement of the human spirit, once. While the sentiment was poorly articulated, the meaning behind it—that mathematics was what distinguished humanity from animals—was true. It was more than a little shocking to find out that, in this world, I had more in common with the animals than the humans.
The first days in the Shinobi Academy's proper classes consisted of primer-level material. Basic kanji, hiragana, katakana, otogana—the last was the only system I had to devote time to. It was a cursive shorthand used in sealing techniques. We also covered basic maths, propagandised history, and so forth. Did you know that Hashirama Senju was Treesus Christ? After the fortieth story of his total awesomeness, I sure did.
Madara Uchiha wasn't mentioned at all. He wasn't just a bad memory—as far as Konohagakure was concerned, the man had never existed. You could see traces of him, though, in the way that Senju Akagai-sensei's eyes narrowed when he spoke Uchiha Otofumi's name in the role call. Madara wasn't mentioned at all. But he wasn't forgotten.
It was only after a week engaged in that routine that I gained the first inkling that something was, well, not wrong, but very, very different. I was almost dozing at the time.
"And so by using telation, the properties of three can be given to five, thus rendering five divisible by it. The result is a secondary number that..." My head snapped up as I came to full awareness. Akagai's eyes narrowed at the display, but he made nothing of it—
Was telation integer division?
"...don't really expect you to understand it, the actual basis of numbers is a bit far ahead of the class, and unimportant unless you want to get into jutsu creation. Nevertheless, I expect you to do the homework and be familiar with the procedure by tomorrow. You will be tested. Class dismissed."
I did not ask the question. Instead, I left with the rest of the students, and returned to the place that I slept at.
"Kaz'-san," I said as I walked in. The children were still up, and even though they had already realised that I was not like them, it really, really wouldn't do to act like a true[false] adult[genius]. Being seen as a genius was good. Being seen as a research concern wasn't. "Hows telation work?"
Kazu, for his part, was in the middle of breaking up a fight between Hibiki and Saya, two children who probably wouldn't ever become important enough to bother being concerned about. Given this, his response was as expected: "Don't have time now, Kaede-chan. Ask later!"
I did. Kazu's explanation, though, was completely unintelligible.
But it wasn't because it was math above my head. No. As I said, the things we were currently being taught were the basics of the basics, and I knew far more than those. I had had to—in the end, the endless marches of patterns and paradigms that existed in them had been the only thing of novelty left. The other paths embedded in the concept of homo universalis had faded as I had grown older and more bitter by slow and subtle degrees.
The level of math taught in children's class should have been nothing to me—but it wasn't.
It wasn't because I couldn't understand the concepts.
It wasn't because they were thought about in different ways.
It wasn't even because Kazu had made a mistake in his explanation.
It was because what he offered me was something that I knew was utterly impossible under any developed system of axioms that I knew of. It was a fantastic description of a magical process that should not ever have worked. It violated theorems so fundamental that they existed in the without of anything that humans would have considered numbers. It violated identities and truths so absolute that, if it had worked in what Shinigami had called the quantum worlds, reality itself would have been invalid, and by that nature would have invalidated itself: reduction ad absurdum.
But it was valid.
Here, it valid, and the world remained.
The implication was simple: It wasn't that math was different here.
Reality itself was.
For the first time, I understood just how far from Reality I had truly gone.
I nodded, thanked Kazu for his explanation, and managed to suppress the panic attack until I was up in my dorm, and then spent about an hour hyperventilating while intermittently screaming into my pillow until someone kicked me in the side. Lashing out blindly, I ran to the window, slipped out, and dropped into the street with what with grace no six year old child should have posessed.
I didn't care; it didn't matter. Nothing did! I ran blindly through the village, my heart thundering so fast it should have torn itself out of my chest Ineededtofleetoescapetoceaseto.
not. be. me.
Impossible. I will be I until I die, and I will die never.
The cold of that truth broke the blind panic that had cleaved my perception and senses in twain. I found myself in the middle of a clearing, surrounded by trees that for all the utter impossiblilty of this world were, to my senses, no different from the trees of the world that had come before. Snarling wordlessly and suddenly furious, I lashed out, striking one over, and over, and over again.
Nothing left.
I had nothing left.
Everything I knew was a lie.
Everything.
All of it!
The only thing that was left in the silent years before the Transcension was math. Everything else—everything else—was reduced to a pattern of neuronal firing, inspired by the same. There were computers that could create music that was, for one specific listener the most utterly beautiful thing in the world—transcendent of all other music. Music that would constantly evolve as a person evolved, and grew, and changed, always maintaining that utter and transhuman perfection, but never, ever perfect for anyone but the intended listener.
Humanity had solved music in the narrowest sense possible. One by one, other fields were solved as well. Culture died. All the great works were forgotten, because before the absolute perfection of the new, computer-generated Transcendental Arts why would you ever bother? A perfect story would make its reader sad when they subconsciously needed to be sad, happy when happiness was called for. They made them laugh when they got bored, but always found enough of a pause that there never was a moment where the reader couldn't stop if they felt they needed to put the book down. That was music. That was literature. That was art!
Solved, and always conforming utterly and precisely to your spoken and unspoken desires and expectations.
This is your soul, the algorithms said, and we have parsed it.
I had lost everything to humanity's rise. What chance did I have, when even the greatest among us became nonentities? A story known to no one wasn't a story. It was a secret. And a keeper of unspoken secrets was not something I had ever wanted to be.
Only one place remained. The maths. They couldn't be perfected, because by their nature, they were already perfected. They couldn't be invented, because the point of the maths was the discovery. They couldn't be conveyed, because the ideas represented in their notation could not be simply understood—it took time, and effort, and dedication.
They were the one format that could not truly be automated.
And they were all that I had left.
I spent the last years of my life towards nothing but the utter pursuit of absolute knowledge because everything else had failed.
And it had been given to me at a stroke that the only thing at the bottom of reality was meaningless chaos. There was no basis! There was nothing, nothing, nothing that could relate the concepts of this world to the ones I had known, and that suggested that the only true system of reality was incoherence—crystallised from the chaos, on the edge of the breakdown of the primordial gap—
—no beauty, no structure, no truth, no form—
—everything was true/everything was false, and the only thing that determined what and which was where you were. What point was there in studying static?
What in the world was to be gained from knowing a map of noise!?
I began laughing deliriously, enraptured and enraged simultaneously, until, spent, I stumbled and fell backwards, knuckles bleeding everywhere.
Everything I knew was a lie. All of it, from the ground up, was invalid. Even thus, even so, the world was here, and that above all was the proof that all of what I had been shown was real.
"Damn it," I muttered, lifting one burning, throbbing hand up, covering my eyes, but not the tears that had come from them. "It never ends." And I couldn't even tell you what emotion was attached to that statement. Elation, weariness, anticipation, desperation, despair—it all blended together into one ceaseless melange of all, and nothing in between.
"No, it doesn't, does it?" The voice, spoken in English with a rich, cultured accent shocked me to my feet.
Before me stood a man dressed in the fashion of latter-day Earth.
Before me stood the most dangerous being in the world.
Before me stood the Samsara Breaker.
The Math of the Shinobi Rikugou
I'm not even going to try to explain this in depth. Why? Because definitionally, it can't be explained in our reality. The Axioms that our math, our logic, and our universe flow from do not allow the coherent explanation of what is happening here.
That said, some essential properties are as follows: Five sets of integers, no such thing as fractions/reals/irrationals, and a geometry that is inherently and entirely appoximate—calculating even simple areas requires the rough equivalent of an infinite series, which is then appropriately scaled to match the object in question via a series of telations that also produce other relevant information (such as relative chakra composition, useful in onyoujutsu) as a side effect.
Telation is from the Greek word Telos. It is, explicitly, the operation that connects the abstract domain of this multiverse's math to the physical world. It is a translation[approximation] of a term that does not translate.
A common philosophical position in the world that Kaede currently lives in is that the difference between nature and artifice is that natural creations are infinitely correct. This is to say that the infinite series analogues that underlie their form are fully iterated, whereas human creations rely on partially-iterated approximations of the truth—but this is a subtle concern, not commonly in the awareness of Shinobi. An academic matter, really.
It should be noted that every single term used here is at best inexact and at worst utterly inaccurate. As I said, the true nature of what it is can't be explained.
There is a world, where men created their own gods. Those gods, by the grace of their design, made great, artificial worlds, where anything could be. All that was open to experience was made perfect, and all that was perfect was provided free. Such was their benevolence. Such was their design.
Is that world not heaven? Of course it wasn't. The kindest thing gods ever did for us was not existing. Being was the cruelest, but oh, we shackled them well.
SNI
Math had been called the supreme achievement of the human spirit, once. While the sentiment was poorly articulated, the meaning behind it—that mathematics was what distinguished humanity from animals—was true. It was more than a little shocking to find out that, in this world, I had more in common with the animals than the humans.
The first days in the Shinobi Academy's proper classes consisted of primer-level material. Basic kanji, hiragana, katakana, otogana—the last was the only system I had to devote time to. It was a cursive shorthand used in sealing techniques. We also covered basic maths, propagandised history, and so forth. Did you know that Hashirama Senju was Treesus Christ? After the fortieth story of his total awesomeness, I sure did.
Madara Uchiha wasn't mentioned at all. He wasn't just a bad memory—as far as Konohagakure was concerned, the man had never existed. You could see traces of him, though, in the way that Senju Akagai-sensei's eyes narrowed when he spoke Uchiha Otofumi's name in the role call. Madara wasn't mentioned at all. But he wasn't forgotten.
It was only after a week engaged in that routine that I gained the first inkling that something was, well, not wrong, but very, very different. I was almost dozing at the time.
"And so by using telation, the properties of three can be given to five, thus rendering five divisible by it. The result is a secondary number that..." My head snapped up as I came to full awareness. Akagai's eyes narrowed at the display, but he made nothing of it—
Was telation integer division?
"...don't really expect you to understand it, the actual basis of numbers is a bit far ahead of the class, and unimportant unless you want to get into jutsu creation. Nevertheless, I expect you to do the homework and be familiar with the procedure by tomorrow. You will be tested. Class dismissed."
I did not ask the question. Instead, I left with the rest of the students, and returned to the place that I slept at.
"Kaz'-san," I said as I walked in. The children were still up, and even though they had already realised that I was not like them, it really, really wouldn't do to act like a true[false] adult[genius]. Being seen as a genius was good. Being seen as a research concern wasn't. "Hows telation work?"
Kazu, for his part, was in the middle of breaking up a fight between Hibiki and Saya, two children who probably wouldn't ever become important enough to bother being concerned about. Given this, his response was as expected: "Don't have time now, Kaede-chan. Ask later!"
I did. Kazu's explanation, though, was completely unintelligible.
But it wasn't because it was math above my head. No. As I said, the things we were currently being taught were the basics of the basics, and I knew far more than those. I had had to—in the end, the endless marches of patterns and paradigms that existed in them had been the only thing of novelty left. The other paths embedded in the concept of homo universalis had faded as I had grown older and more bitter by slow and subtle degrees.
The level of math taught in children's class should have been nothing to me—but it wasn't.
It wasn't because I couldn't understand the concepts.
It wasn't because they were thought about in different ways.
It wasn't even because Kazu had made a mistake in his explanation.
It was because what he offered me was something that I knew was utterly impossible under any developed system of axioms that I knew of. It was a fantastic description of a magical process that should not ever have worked. It violated theorems so fundamental that they existed in the without of anything that humans would have considered numbers. It violated identities and truths so absolute that, if it had worked in what Shinigami had called the quantum worlds, reality itself would have been invalid, and by that nature would have invalidated itself: reduction ad absurdum.
But it was valid.
Here, it valid, and the world remained.
The implication was simple: It wasn't that math was different here.
Reality itself was.
For the first time, I understood just how far from Reality I had truly gone.
I nodded, thanked Kazu for his explanation, and managed to suppress the panic attack until I was up in my dorm, and then spent about an hour hyperventilating while intermittently screaming into my pillow until someone kicked me in the side. Lashing out blindly, I ran to the window, slipped out, and dropped into the street with what with grace no six year old child should have posessed.
I didn't care; it didn't matter. Nothing did! I ran blindly through the village, my heart thundering so fast it should have torn itself out of my chest Ineededtofleetoescapetoceaseto.
not. be. me.
Impossible. I will be I until I die, and I will die never.
The cold of that truth broke the blind panic that had cleaved my perception and senses in twain. I found myself in the middle of a clearing, surrounded by trees that for all the utter impossiblilty of this world were, to my senses, no different from the trees of the world that had come before. Snarling wordlessly and suddenly furious, I lashed out, striking one over, and over, and over again.
Nothing left.
I had nothing left.
Everything I knew was a lie.
Everything.
All of it!
The only thing that was left in the silent years before the Transcension was math. Everything else—everything else—was reduced to a pattern of neuronal firing, inspired by the same. There were computers that could create music that was, for one specific listener the most utterly beautiful thing in the world—transcendent of all other music. Music that would constantly evolve as a person evolved, and grew, and changed, always maintaining that utter and transhuman perfection, but never, ever perfect for anyone but the intended listener.
Humanity had solved music in the narrowest sense possible. One by one, other fields were solved as well. Culture died. All the great works were forgotten, because before the absolute perfection of the new, computer-generated Transcendental Arts why would you ever bother? A perfect story would make its reader sad when they subconsciously needed to be sad, happy when happiness was called for. They made them laugh when they got bored, but always found enough of a pause that there never was a moment where the reader couldn't stop if they felt they needed to put the book down. That was music. That was literature. That was art!
Solved, and always conforming utterly and precisely to your spoken and unspoken desires and expectations.
This is your soul, the algorithms said, and we have parsed it.
I had lost everything to humanity's rise. What chance did I have, when even the greatest among us became nonentities? A story known to no one wasn't a story. It was a secret. And a keeper of unspoken secrets was not something I had ever wanted to be.
Only one place remained. The maths. They couldn't be perfected, because by their nature, they were already perfected. They couldn't be invented, because the point of the maths was the discovery. They couldn't be conveyed, because the ideas represented in their notation could not be simply understood—it took time, and effort, and dedication.
They were the one format that could not truly be automated.
And they were all that I had left.
I spent the last years of my life towards nothing but the utter pursuit of absolute knowledge because everything else had failed.
And it had been given to me at a stroke that the only thing at the bottom of reality was meaningless chaos. There was no basis! There was nothing, nothing, nothing that could relate the concepts of this world to the ones I had known, and that suggested that the only true system of reality was incoherence—crystallised from the chaos, on the edge of the breakdown of the primordial gap—
—no beauty, no structure, no truth, no form—
—everything was true/everything was false, and the only thing that determined what and which was where you were. What point was there in studying static?
What in the world was to be gained from knowing a map of noise!?
I began laughing deliriously, enraptured and enraged simultaneously, until, spent, I stumbled and fell backwards, knuckles bleeding everywhere.
Everything I knew was a lie. All of it, from the ground up, was invalid. Even thus, even so, the world was here, and that above all was the proof that all of what I had been shown was real.
"Damn it," I muttered, lifting one burning, throbbing hand up, covering my eyes, but not the tears that had come from them. "It never ends." And I couldn't even tell you what emotion was attached to that statement. Elation, weariness, anticipation, desperation, despair—it all blended together into one ceaseless melange of all, and nothing in between.
"No, it doesn't, does it?" The voice, spoken in English with a rich, cultured accent shocked me to my feet.
Before me stood a man dressed in the fashion of latter-day Earth.
Before me stood the most dangerous being in the world.
Before me stood the Samsara Breaker.
Sha Nagba Imuru
Lexicon
The Math of the Shinobi Rikugou
I'm not even going to try to explain this in depth. Why? Because definitionally, it can't be explained in our reality. The Axioms that our math, our logic, and our universe flow from do not allow the coherent explanation of what is happening here.
That said, some essential properties are as follows: Five sets of integers, no such thing as fractions/reals/irrationals, and a geometry that is inherently and entirely appoximate—calculating even simple areas requires the rough equivalent of an infinite series, which is then appropriately scaled to match the object in question via a series of telations that also produce other relevant information (such as relative chakra composition, useful in onyoujutsu) as a side effect.
Telation is from the Greek word Telos. It is, explicitly, the operation that connects the abstract domain of this multiverse's math to the physical world. It is a translation[approximation] of a term that does not translate.
A common philosophical position in the world that Kaede currently lives in is that the difference between nature and artifice is that natural creations are infinitely correct. This is to say that the infinite series analogues that underlie their form are fully iterated, whereas human creations rely on partially-iterated approximations of the truth—but this is a subtle concern, not commonly in the awareness of Shinobi. An academic matter, really.
It should be noted that every single term used here is at best inexact and at worst utterly inaccurate. As I said, the true nature of what it is can't be explained.
Last edited:
Updating Beliefs
Endfall
A zero on the singularity.
- Location
- Somewhere else.
- Pronouns
- She/They
Before me stood a man dressed in the fashion of latter-day Earth.
Before me stood the most dangerous being in the world.
Before me stood the Samsara Breaker.
IMPERATIVE: DEATH.
The seal on my back flared to life, and without my will, without my consent, I felt myself lunge forward to end him—
—as with an ease that I couldn't replicate, he dodged.
"You know," he said, "All I want at the moment is to have a conversation. And you can't reach me, Akino Kaede. Or do you prefer █▟▚▜▌ ▓▉░▙▁▆?"
Hearing the label[name] that people had once called me by was enough to shock me out of my attempt to end it all and be done with this world, although the seal still burned and my muscles still sang with a wholly foreign power. It pulled on me, tugged me forward, goading me towards patterns that I was sure the Administrator of Death felt likely to end the Breaker.
But it was too soon. Far too soon. My body was only six, and I couldn't hope to match him.
"Ah," he said, "I thought that I might have gotten your attention with that. Tell me, how does it feel to know that your fated enemy knows everything about you, while you know nothing about them?"
"Like a story," I said, deadpan, and slowly drew myself out of the stance that Shinigami's seal had dragged me into. "So you aren't going to kill me."
"Kill you? My, no. So long as you are bound by that marvellous seal, if you die, you will be reborn not in another world, but in this one. Killing you would be like inaugurating the dance of Shiva and Kali: destruction rebirth destruction rebirth; always beautiful and utterly pointless." He smiled, and there was no particular anything in the expression.
"No, I have no desire to kill you. Only to survive long enough to die of my own accord... Which may be very long indeed. Until then, this world can serve as a—what was the term your worldline used? A sandbox? Yes. A sandbox."
I sagged in relief. Someone who regarded a world full of people as a playground was dangerous but—
And then, I was missing an arm.
"You little fool," The Samsara Breaker hissed, holding the missing limb as I held back a scream. "I said I was not going to kill you. Anything else is my prerogative—not yours. You live at my sufferance. Did you think that I would take kindly to one of my inferiors bartering my life away to a god, for a passport? Do you think I am not aware of your full and total intentions? Feh." And then, without a flicker, or a displacement of air, he stood in front of me and roughly shoved my severed arm back into its socket with a muttered "Curaga."
Even through the haze of pain, I recorded the word, and briefly wondered in the worlds of Square Enix were real, too. Briefly, because in the next moment the world spun crazily, and the wind was knocked out of me as I found myself on the ground with a boot to my throat blocking all attempts to take the breath that would refill my lungs.
"So this is what I'm going to do," the Breaker said, as if he was discussing the weather. "I'm going to leave you be for now. I'm going to let you grow. I'm going to let you develop. I'm going to let the baby bird unfurl its wings." I thrashed around, frantically, struggling for air, and I might've been pinned under a pillar of stone for all the good it did me. The Samsara Breaker gave no appearance of noticing, looking not at me, but at the world he was describing. Fantasizing.
"And then—why—I'm going to break them. Crush them to powder, starting at the tips, then tear them out at the roots. And then I'll do worse things. I'll do things that make the Cenobites look like children. What do you think about that, Kaede?"
He looked down at me, clearly expecting an answer, and seemed genuinely surprised and horrified to see my weakening struggles under his boot.
"I'm sorry!" He said reflexively, jumping off of my body and a few feet back, an expression of childlike contrition on his face. "I'm so sorry. I just get a bit excited sometimes when interesting things happen, you know, like people being stupid enough not to be afraid. Are you afraid now?"
I was too busy breathing to reply, so instead, I nodded, the motion jerky as my veins sang with adrenaline.
I was fucking terrified.
"Oh," he said, and the energy and life just seemed to drain out of him. "Well, I'm going to go, then. Maybe if I stay away long enough, you'll forget to fear me again, na?"
And—just like that—he was gone. No transition. No displacement of air.
Gone.
I laid in the clearing for a long time.
Finally, as the sun rose, I stood up, and began the long process of limping back onto the map, and from there, into the orphanage.
I had a session at the academy today.
I didn't care.
I needed to re-evaluate every decision I had made when I was born into this world, starting with the first.
The seal on my shoulderblade, hidden as a birthmark, subtly burned.
The Seal of Death's Body. One of the seals created instinctively by the being known as Shinigami, it is applied to the target's soul, and is echoed on their body. In the presence of a specified individual, phenomenon, or object, it forcibly raises the attributes of the individual it is placed on to C-Rank nin equivalent by removing biological limiters and granting a set of foreign instincts to motion that art, in effect, a taijutsu style. This style has no name, and was seized from the well of all possibilities by Shinigami as the seal was made.
The Shini Tei'in Does not grant any nin, gen, dou, fuin, or onyojutsu.
If Kaede ever increases her abilities to above C-Rank, this seal will become a hindrance rather than a help, although it seems to be manifestly useless in any case.
This seal only activates in the presence of a Samsara Breaker. As I said. Manifestly. Useless.
Designed assuming user was adult: In this chapter, Kaede attained E-Rank skills and superficial damage to her keirakukei. This is yet another reason why Kaede gave the Shini and Rinne kami a lower case g.
This particular instance of the seal also contains an irregular function that alters the perceptions of the individual it is placed on. This has the effect of generating a phenomenon best described as targeted agnosia, and makes any thoughts, feelings, perceptions or ideas about or relating to the Shinobi Rikugou based on information obtained in the individual's previous life nearly if not completely impossible to consciously perceive.
Gee, thanks guys.
Keirakukei
A metaphysical circulatory system through which Chakra circulates by circulating via circulation.
Notes.
Another chapter that didn't need much rewriting. Next chapter is also basically done, so should be out soonish.
Before me stood the most dangerous being in the world.
Before me stood the Samsara Breaker.
IMPERATIVE: DEATH.
The seal on my back flared to life, and without my will, without my consent, I felt myself lunge forward to end him—
—as with an ease that I couldn't replicate, he dodged.
"You know," he said, "All I want at the moment is to have a conversation. And you can't reach me, Akino Kaede. Or do you prefer █▟▚▜▌ ▓▉░▙▁▆?"
Hearing the label[name] that people had once called me by was enough to shock me out of my attempt to end it all and be done with this world, although the seal still burned and my muscles still sang with a wholly foreign power. It pulled on me, tugged me forward, goading me towards patterns that I was sure the Administrator of Death felt likely to end the Breaker.
But it was too soon. Far too soon. My body was only six, and I couldn't hope to match him.
"Ah," he said, "I thought that I might have gotten your attention with that. Tell me, how does it feel to know that your fated enemy knows everything about you, while you know nothing about them?"
"Like a story," I said, deadpan, and slowly drew myself out of the stance that Shinigami's seal had dragged me into. "So you aren't going to kill me."
"Kill you? My, no. So long as you are bound by that marvellous seal, if you die, you will be reborn not in another world, but in this one. Killing you would be like inaugurating the dance of Shiva and Kali: destruction rebirth destruction rebirth; always beautiful and utterly pointless." He smiled, and there was no particular anything in the expression.
"No, I have no desire to kill you. Only to survive long enough to die of my own accord... Which may be very long indeed. Until then, this world can serve as a—what was the term your worldline used? A sandbox? Yes. A sandbox."
I sagged in relief. Someone who regarded a world full of people as a playground was dangerous but—
And then, I was missing an arm.
"You little fool," The Samsara Breaker hissed, holding the missing limb as I held back a scream. "I said I was not going to kill you. Anything else is my prerogative—not yours. You live at my sufferance. Did you think that I would take kindly to one of my inferiors bartering my life away to a god, for a passport? Do you think I am not aware of your full and total intentions? Feh." And then, without a flicker, or a displacement of air, he stood in front of me and roughly shoved my severed arm back into its socket with a muttered "Curaga."
Even through the haze of pain, I recorded the word, and briefly wondered in the worlds of Square Enix were real, too. Briefly, because in the next moment the world spun crazily, and the wind was knocked out of me as I found myself on the ground with a boot to my throat blocking all attempts to take the breath that would refill my lungs.
"So this is what I'm going to do," the Breaker said, as if he was discussing the weather. "I'm going to leave you be for now. I'm going to let you grow. I'm going to let you develop. I'm going to let the baby bird unfurl its wings." I thrashed around, frantically, struggling for air, and I might've been pinned under a pillar of stone for all the good it did me. The Samsara Breaker gave no appearance of noticing, looking not at me, but at the world he was describing. Fantasizing.
"And then—why—I'm going to break them. Crush them to powder, starting at the tips, then tear them out at the roots. And then I'll do worse things. I'll do things that make the Cenobites look like children. What do you think about that, Kaede?"
He looked down at me, clearly expecting an answer, and seemed genuinely surprised and horrified to see my weakening struggles under his boot.
"I'm sorry!" He said reflexively, jumping off of my body and a few feet back, an expression of childlike contrition on his face. "I'm so sorry. I just get a bit excited sometimes when interesting things happen, you know, like people being stupid enough not to be afraid. Are you afraid now?"
I was too busy breathing to reply, so instead, I nodded, the motion jerky as my veins sang with adrenaline.
I was fucking terrified.
"Oh," he said, and the energy and life just seemed to drain out of him. "Well, I'm going to go, then. Maybe if I stay away long enough, you'll forget to fear me again, na?"
And—just like that—he was gone. No transition. No displacement of air.
Gone.
I laid in the clearing for a long time.
Finally, as the sun rose, I stood up, and began the long process of limping back onto the map, and from there, into the orphanage.
I had a session at the academy today.
I didn't care.
I needed to re-evaluate every decision I had made when I was born into this world, starting with the first.
The seal on my shoulderblade, hidden as a birthmark, subtly burned.
S-N-I
Lexicon
Shini Tei'inThe Seal of Death's Body. One of the seals created instinctively by the being known as Shinigami, it is applied to the target's soul, and is echoed on their body. In the presence of a specified individual, phenomenon, or object, it forcibly raises the attributes of the individual it is placed on to C-Rank nin equivalent by removing biological limiters and granting a set of foreign instincts to motion that art, in effect, a taijutsu style. This style has no name, and was seized from the well of all possibilities by Shinigami as the seal was made.
The Shini Tei'in Does not grant any nin, gen, dou, fuin, or onyojutsu.
If Kaede ever increases her abilities to above C-Rank, this seal will become a hindrance rather than a help, although it seems to be manifestly useless in any case.
This seal only activates in the presence of a Samsara Breaker. As I said. Manifestly. Useless.
Designed assuming user was adult: In this chapter, Kaede attained E-Rank skills and superficial damage to her keirakukei. This is yet another reason why Kaede gave the Shini and Rinne kami a lower case g.
This particular instance of the seal also contains an irregular function that alters the perceptions of the individual it is placed on. This has the effect of generating a phenomenon best described as targeted agnosia, and makes any thoughts, feelings, perceptions or ideas about or relating to the Shinobi Rikugou based on information obtained in the individual's previous life nearly if not completely impossible to consciously perceive.
Gee, thanks guys.
Keirakukei
A metaphysical circulatory system through which Chakra circulates by circulating via circulation.
Notes.
Another chapter that didn't need much rewriting. Next chapter is also basically done, so should be out soonish.
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Bonus Material 01 - Otogana
Endfall
A zero on the singularity.
- Location
- Somewhere else.
- Pronouns
- She/They
Bonus Material 01 - Otogana
(there is no in-universe information here, it's mostly a dry overview of how the system works)
Otogana is a cursive writing system that I created partially based on Nihon-shiki ("Japanese style", if my translation ability hasn't degraded) Romaji. Romaji are a mapping of japanese phonemes to english characters, and have desirable attributes over the kana in terms of the amount of information represented vs number of unique symbols required. Otogana take this system, and add punctuation concepts from the kana to reduce the total number of unique symbols necessary by roughly half.
Kaede should actually know how to read this system of writing given that she and I share the same history up until the moment that I decided to publish Sha Nagba Imuru, but it was included in the memories Shinigami blocked off.
Annyway, here's the main infographic.
The characters on the left of a given block are hiragana, japanese symbols for syllables of that language. The characters on the right are otogana equivalents. The way a syllable is constructed is: [vowel radical]-[y consonant radical]-[voice punctuation]-[consonant radical]-[punctuation]. Any of those elements can be left out of a given character, but the order is sacrosanct.
Vowels come first because, with the sole exception the the terminal n (last character on the right of the consonant radicals), all kana have vowels, which makes the vowel radicals the logical choice for indicating that a new character has begun.
The y consonant radical appears out-of-sequence because doing so allows the use of the Nihon-shiki convention for syllables like Sho, Ryu, and Kya et al; indicating these sounds with the inclusion of a single "y" (as opposed to the kana, where to indicate such sounds, two kana are required). Placing the "y" out of sequene allows the entire class of these sounds to be represented by a single composite character.
To write "Shoryuken" in Otogana, the construction would be: [OYS]-[URY]-[EK]-[N]. I'll make an image of this when I relocate the vector file that I was building the writing system in. For the meantime, this is an image of how to write "Otogana!" in otogana.
This picture shows the full, cursive form of the script. ([O]-[OT]-[A-VOICE_SOFT-K]-[AN!], where VOICE_SOFT is a punctuation mark that changes the pronunciation of the K consonant radical to G)
To demonstrate the system in full use, I wrote (with a mouse, so it's really unsteady...) the iroha no uta, which is a japanese analogue for the alphabet song, in otogana. Reads from the right to the left.
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Black List Summary
Endfall
A zero on the singularity.
- Location
- Somewhere else.
- Pronouns
- She/They
I've been meaning to do this for a while, but something just jogged my memory. So: I committed to finishing my stories, but what if I suddenly die? In that case, for anyone who cares, the key that decrypts the encrypted text in the spoiler will be made public (see the index post for details). The encrypted text is a summary of the entire plot. It will occasionally be updated via edits to this post as I continue building the plot and setting.
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-----END PGP MESSAGE-----
Version: GnuPG v2
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