Chapter 2721: The Ship of Theseus |
The being drifted in a dark vastness of shattered memories.
It was vaguely aware of its own existence, but it did not know what it had been, what it was, what it would become.
The cold abyss of broken memories surrounding it seemed boundless. The memories belonged to different creatures, different ages, different worlds. Some were sweet, while some were awful. Some were faint and brittle, while some were clear and sharp as if etched into eternity. The being was lost in the labyrinth of those memories, unable to remember itself. Time and space were meaningless in the absence of awareness... and yet, the being felt a faint certainty.
A subtle premonition of its doom.
If it failed to find itself soon, it would dissolve into the ocean of memories forever, becoming something else. Something mindless, weak, and destined to cease.
'How... vexing.'
The being thought that the evanescence of its existence was daunting. It did not possess limbs — or a body, for that matter — nor did it have a concept of possessing them. Not that things like that existed in the cold abyss of recollections. Still, the being wanted to reach for the memories, so it shaped its Will into long tendrils and grasped the nearest one.
In the next moment...
It saw the last battle of a war for the throne of a dying world.
There were too many of them to count, but oddly enough, only a few were individuals. They were those precious few who had yet to succumb to the plague... the remainder were merely vessels of her last ally, the hateful butcher of the north.
Walking out of the Ebony Tower, the blind woman faced the familiar expanse of the Chained Island.
Out there, separated from the flying island by a vast chasm and the great length of seven celestial chains, the forces of humanity were arrayed against them.
More than a hundred Saints. Thousands of Masters. Countless Awakened warriors... Seishan and her sisters were among them. So were the Saints of the House of Night, Sky Tide, Roan... even her own Fire Keepers. And their master, naturally.
All of them were ready to attack the Ebony Tower.
The Sky Below would have served as a natural barrier for most, but Nightwalker was there as well, ready to fold space and deliver the besieging army to her doorstep. The Ivory Island loomed in the distance, as well, and the Night Garden could appear at any moment.
“Quite a sight, isn't it?"
She turned her head faintly, acknowledging the man who had spoken to her — the wicked monster with eyes that reflected the world back on itself.
The blind woman lingered for a moment, then said indifferently:
"I wouldn't know’
He laughed.
Once the echoes of his laughter were swallowed by the wind, the man added in a mocking tone:
“It all could have been avoided if you had let me loose, you know? Ah, but alas. You and your senseless morality."
He paused briefly, then asked:
"So, what does defeat taste like?"
The blind woman lingered for a long time. When she finally spoke, her dark voice was full of defiance:
"...I am not defeated yet."
The being reeled away.
Who were those people? Who were their adversaries, and what were they fighting for? It did not know, but the woman... the blind woman... she felt familiar.
What was her name?
Looking around, the being reached for another fragment. The tendrils of its will wrapped around it tightly, and it saw a different memory.
In that memory, the being was vast and boundless. She wore a nebulous mantle and a mask of polished wood, standing proudly under a lightless sky.
The being was surrounded by six figures. There was one wrapped in darkness and mist, its frightening black wings obscuring the sky. There was a horrid whisper that hid with the wind, flowing insidiously into her ears. There was a graceful figure woven out of darkness and light, so stunningly gorgeous that she wanted to cry.
There was an ethereal presence that felt like the sweetest of illusions... its sweetness hid the very depths of hell. A ghostly silhouette who smelled of seawaves and starlight, her piercing blue eyes as vast as the sky, as dark and unfathomable as the cold embrace of Shadow...
And another one, whose visage eluded her due to being unmemorable.
The master of darkness and mist spoke, "We shall draw a line across all of existence, and separate all that exists. There will only be those who stand beneath our banner, and those who stand against our will. Those who follow the Demons and those who believe the lies of the gods. None shall refuse our challenge; none shall escape our call. Not even you, Weaver."
She laughed, her elusive voice sounding like a myriad of hopeless prayers.
“Who are you to call on us, brother? Who are you to challenge fate? We have heard you call and refuse it. We shall not be a part of the war that you wage."
The Demon of Choice was silent for a moment, then spoke in a voice that contained the infinite weight of the boundless abyss, "The line has been drawn, and there is no escaping its judgment. Even by choosing to stay still, you are making a choice. The choice to abandon your siblings and side with the gods."
His voice swelled with coldness and fury at the hint of betrayal.
“Choose wisely, my sibling. You are alone and surrounded. If you choose to betray us, do you think I will let you escape?"
She looked at the master of darkness and mist from beneath her fearsome mask, then raised her chin arrogantly and lied, as she always did.
“We are Weaver, the Demon of Fate. We are the eldest of us, seven orphans, and the most dreadful."
Weaver was the master of knowledge and lies, after all.
"You spoke of choices, my brother, but why does it seem like you have already made yours? Do you think you can best us? No... you have already lost."
Her elusive voice turned cold and penetrating, making the darkness shiver. "We are alone because that was our will, and we are surrounded because that is where we wanted to be. Every step you took, every word you spoke, and every thought you conceived of has been formed, foreseen, and dictated by fate. And we are the master of fate, after all. Therefore, we are your master as well."
She looked at her brother from beneath the wooden mask and asked coldly:
"So tell me, Demon of Choice... who is it that has to choose wisely?"
...The being staggered away, gasping for breath even though it did not have lungs and existed in a space alien to the concept of air.
No, that memory was too grand, too terrifying, too impossible. The memory was in its possession, somehow, but belonged to someone else.
To someone terrifying.
'I running out of time.'
Still suffering the aftershocks of witnessing the terrible confrontation, the being desperately extended the tendrils of its Will toward a different memory — and that felt fresh and impactful, painted in shades of pain, fear, and profound insight.
It belonged to the blind woman again.
"Yes, this feels right. This feels like... me..."
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