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Chapter 3193: Regret Can

Days turned into weeks, and weeks turned into months.

It didn't take the transient soul long to fully recover from her wounds. However, even after she mended herself and replenished her essence, the little doll did not seem in a hurry to leave the lightless kingdom that belonged to the shadow — she cautiously scouted its surroundings, but made no effort to venture into the wide world beyond.

That was probably because she was scared. Snuggle maintained a cheerful attitude, but the shadow could tell that there was a deep well of darker emotions hidden behind her bright surface. It was easy to understand why — she had not encased herself in an inescapable crystal without a reason, after all.

An unknown number of years had passed in the real world, but for Snuggle, those events had happened mere days ago. So, it was no surprise that she was in no hurry to embark on another traumatic adventure.

She did not have a good reason to, anyway, from what the shadow could tell. The wandering soul seemed convinced that someone would come to find her, one day in the future — she believed in that person with all her heart, not allowing even the smallest measure of doubt to creep into her thoughts.

And if that was true, then all she had to do was stay alive and wait. The shadow had frightened her at the beginning, but now, she seemed to find his company reassuring. There was no place safer than his kingdom anywhere in this realm — or any mortal realm, perhaps. So why would she leave?

The shadow did not mind her company.

His slow and uneventful existence did not change much. He was still vast and devoid of desire, his consciousness sprawled across the silent reaches of his dark kingdom — devoid of life, devoid of light, populated by no one except a legion of quiet shades.

It was just that now, there was also a little doll living among the shades as well.

The shadow maintained a human incarnation to keep her company, finding her antics a refreshing distraction from the crushing weight of eternity. He did not do much and did not speak often, but the transient soul did enough of that for both of them.

Somehow he even doubted that she knew how to keep quiet. The little doll was a constant source of noise, not to mention light.

The shadow simply kept calling her Snuggle. She did not seem to mind — and despite the nascent bond of trust between them, she did not seem in a hurry to share her true name with him either.

Names had power, after all, and especially so True Names. In the hands of a powerful sorcerer, they could become one's doom... and in the hands of a being such as the shadow, they could become a beacon for the deadly weapon of his Will.

The wandering soul did not seem aware of what the Will was, but she knew enough to keep her True Name a secret. That suited the shadow fine, since he would feel awkward calling the little doll anything but Snuggle anyway.

Snuggle, meanwhile, developed an extremely bizarre habit...

She began talking to the shades.

As the two of them walked the streets of the lifeless city, she was like a squeaky fountain of greetings.

"Oh, hello there, Mr. Miller!"

"Fancy meeting you here, Madam Sash!" "Handsome Guard? What are you doing here? That is not your usual patrol route!" “Lady Hairdo! How was your day?"

The shade of a mature matron with a complicated headdress just gazed at her silently. Snuggle smiled.

“Just as usual, then! Well, I won't keep you. Let's catch up later!"

The shadow stared at Snuggle in utter incomprehension, wondering if she had lost her mind.

Noticing his stare, she glanced in his direction and asked:

"What?"

The shadow lingered a few moments.

"I just can't fathom why you would talk to them."

Snuggle shrugged.

“Why not? Who knows, perhaps they'll respond one day.’

The shadow frowned in confusion.

"They won't. Even if they could, what do you think they would say?"

Snuggle raised one of her hands and supported her chin, contemplating the answer seriously.

Then, she said:

“Something like ‘Oh, gods! A talking doll! Run for your lives!'?"

The shadow blinked a couple of times.

He stared at the little doll, then at the shades that surrounded them.

Eventually, he nodded.

“A reasonable answer."

Snuggle exploded with laughter and scampered forward, forcing him to keep pace.

Eventually, it seemed like she knew everyone in the city. Snuggle spent quite some time observing the lives of the silent shades, asking the shadows questions about their actions from time to time. She was especially interested in the Transcendent shades — there were only a few of them in his kingdom, all holding important posts. The lord of the city, the high priest, the shaman...

Snuggle was fascinated by each one.

"Transcendent humans... three of them, no less! People like them were only a theoretical existence back home. And these ones conquered Transcendence naturally. What an achievement!"

She sighed.

“I wonder what their Aspects were..."

The shadow studied her for a moment.

“Aren't you a Transcendent human, as well? Or a soul of one, at least."

Snuggle nodded.

"Yeah. But I only became Transcendent after ending up here. It just sort of happened as I was trying to survive the collapse of the First Kingdom. Things got pretty ugly when various priests and nobles began fighting for control... being a mere Ascended did not seem like enough, so I had to step up my game."

The shadow looked at her with a dubious expression.

"Countless people survived the fall of the First Kingdom, and most of them were mundane, not Ascended.”

Snuggle laughed awkwardly.

"Yeah, but... how do I say it... most humans don't feel an overwhelming compulsion to poke their noses into other people's business, unlike me. What, did you think I would stand by and do nothing while those priests and nobles were rampaging, committing vile deeds left and right?"

The shadow shrugged.

"I'd think so, yes."

Snuggle scoffed.

“Didn't you annihilate this entire city because of one human sacrifice?"

The shadow did not know what to answer. Eventually, he simply said:

"I did."

More time passed as he and Snuggle slowly got used to each other. By now, the shadow wasn't even surprised by her conversations with the shades, seeing it as something normal.

And that, in turn, pushed him to pay more attention to the shades himself.

The more he studied the shades, the heavier his heart became...

It was the weight of what he had done, catching up with him slowly.

One day, as they took a walk along the outer edges of the city, Snuggle suddenly asked, her squeaky voice cautious:

“Hey, Shadow, don't you... don't you regret it at all?"

Her gaze was directed at the shades of the farmers pretending to tend to the fields beyond.

The shadow hesitated.

Did he regret it? He wasn't sure. He wasn't sure that he knew what regret was, or if he was capable of feeling it still.

He saw life and death differently from mortals, as well.

Eventually, he said:

“I don't regret anything. Regret... is meaningless. It is a desire aimed at the past, and therefore doomed to stay forever unfulfilled."

However, after saying that, he lingered for a moment and added:

"But... when I look at the future, I do feel reluctant to do anything similar ever again. That is the closest thing to regret I know."

Snuggle sighed and turned away from the fields.

"So you do think about the future as well, sometimes."

The shadow raised an eyebrow.

"Of course, I do."

He thought about the future all the time. Mostly, he thought about how there was always a future, for him — for someone who was denied the right to end and become a thing of the past.

The thought made him feel tired.

Snuggle looked up at him and asked, her usual bright tone returning:

"So, is there something you want to do in the future? Something you desire?"

The shadow smiled.

“Something I desire?"

He lingered for a moment, then shook his head.

“Not really. I don't have any desires left, I think."

Snuggle shook her head.

“No, no, that's not true! You just said that you don't want to slaughter cities anymore. That's a desire, as well! So think deep. Think well! If nothing held you back, what would you want to do?"

The shadow would prefer not to answer, but something compelled him to respond anyway.

He looked at the shades that pretended to tend the fields, contemplating.

A sense of placid melancholy slowly settled in his heart.

Eventually, he said:

“Well... actually, I guess there is one thing.”

Snuggle tugged at the hem of his tunic.

"What is it? Come on, tell me!"

He sighed.

“You see... I am a creature of death. All the things I kill become a part of me. So, in a sense, my existence is like a dam that blocks the entrance to the Shadow Realm. Because of me, countless shadows are doomed to never reach the Realm of Death — to stay within me forever. They are like a deep and dark lake, its surface still and unmoving."

The shadow fell silent for a moment.

"A long time ago, I had a friend. She was a mortal woman, and I didn't want to part with her — so, I offered to make her a part of my soul. But she refused... she said that such an existence would be terribly sad. So, she's gone, and we will never meet again."

Snuggle studied him, then asked in her small, squeaky voice:

"So you want to meet your friend?"

The shadow shook his head.

“No. It's impossible. Even if I live forever, I will never see her again. However... I destroyed this city because I was angry, and I was angry because its people had desecrated her memory."

He looked at his shades, his gaze hiding a hint of despondency.

“But wasn't the act of destroying this city a desecration of her memory, as well? And wouldn't the act of keeping these countless shadows trapped within me, forever, make her terribly sad?"

The shadow smiled wistfully.

"I cannot meet my friend again, because she is in the past. I can't bring the city back to life, either. However... I can still set these shades free, somehow. That is the only thing I can do that belongs to the future."

Snuggle tilted her head a little.

"You want to liberate your shades? Let's do it, then! What's stopping you?"

The shadow looked down, taken aback.

He was just thinking aloud. In truth, he had never contemplated releasing his shades seriously before.

How would he even do it?

After a while, he shrugged.

“I don't really know how to set them free. I can consume them... but then they'll still be a part of me. I would have to deliver them to the Shadow Realm, I guess — let Shadow God deal with it."

Snuggle gulped, but then seemed to find her courage again.

“Well, so what? If that is your only desire, let's go knock on Shadow God's door! Let's come and say — here, these are your clients. Sign for delivery!"

The shadow stared at her, baffled.

“It's... not that easy."

Snuggle waved her hands in the air.

“Why not?"

He didn't know what to answer.

“Well, first of all... I don't even know how to get to the Shadow Realm. We'd need a map, or better yet, a guide. Someone who knows the mortal realms well and can lead us to the Hollow Mountains."

The shadow frowned.

Even if they did get to the Hollow Mountains, they would have to brave the Underworld and the Abyss. And then, they would enter the soul of Shadow God, which was not something the shadow really wanted to do.

But perhaps, maybe...

Perhaps if he met Shadow God, he could receive some answers too.

Still, the very idea was crazy.

Leaving his peaceful kingdom? Plunging into the endless chaos of the mortal realms? Braving unknown dangers and willingly entering the Shadow Realm?

Why would he ever want to do that? Looking at Snuggle, the shadow sighed.

"Listen. You don't seem to realize, but the world out there is full of things that even I, a Supreme Titan, can't handle easily. There are powerful Creatures of Corruption, ancient deities, beings of the Flame that can rend me to shreds with a thought, and all kinds of horrors. And let's not forget people! People are the..."

But before he could finish, a stifled hiss suddenly escaped from his mouth.

That was because some distance away, the peaceful silence of his kingdom was suddenly torn apart by a blinding explosion of pale, ethereal light.

The darkness that had shrouded this land for countless years was banished, and a small portion of the city was suddenly revealed under the night sky.

Moonlight poured from the dark heavens like a waterfall, painting the lightless landscape in pale silver.

‘What the hell?'

The shadow turned in that direction, suppressing the searing pain. He frowned.

‘Who dares?’

Snuggle spun, as well.

It was in that moment that a youthful, arrogant voice reached them from the distance.

"Come out and face me, creature!"

The shadow frowned, and then let out a heavy sigh.

‘Damnation.’

It seemed that the Age of Heroes had descended upon his lands, after all.

Some human fool had finally decided to come and bother him.

“Today is the day you die!"

And that fool was an especially obnoxious one, it seemed.

‘Just what kind of idiot would attack me in my own domain?'

As the shadow grimaced and leaned down to pick up Snuggle, the wind carried the voice of the supposed hero to them once more.

"...Because today is the day that you met me, the Crimson Beast of Twilight!"

As if that was not enough, the uninvited fool added:

"The greatest — and most handsome — hero in all mortal realms!"

Comments 106

  1. Offline
    + 21 -
    Is noctis immortal already? For what I remember that only happens when hope was imprisoned
    Read more
    1. Offline
      + 42 -
      Don't remember if the state of Hope's Kingdom has been mentioned but Noctis isn't necessarily immortal yet here, he was still a hero (ambiguous) doing hero things (more ambiguous) before all that.
      Read more
    2. Online Offline
      + 11 -
      She is already imprisoned. Throughout the age of gods they became more and more distant so sungod imprisoning hope should be at worst early age of heroes
      Read more
      1. Offline
        + 40 -
        No hope got imprisoned when the age of heroes ended we're still far from that
        Read more
  2. Offline
    + 03 -
    Reposting this for Epigon and anyone else who likes to read it
    ACT ONE: TSOOTVI

    The sky above Vanguard Prime was a wound, a fractured pane of black glass stretched over a world of dead basalt. Eighty miles higher, the Aethelgard Beta-201 hung in silence, not by engines or fire, but by gravity itself. A singularity anchored the ship, folding space into its core until the air below sagged under invisible weight.
    To the nomads wandering the plains, it was no vessel at all. It was a scar across the heavens, a void that swallowed the red star’s light and demanded worship or dread.
    Inside, Legate Theron stood in the white expanse of his neural interface. The physical room was gone; in its place, cascades of data spun into grids of light. Thermal bands painted the planet in harsh infrared. Gravity lines bent and twisted around the hull. Every variable had its place, and within this sphere of logic, Theron was master.
    The atmospheric inversion over the obsidian wastes of Vanguard Prime was a phenomenon of pure, bleeding friction, the predictable consequence of a world baked to a brittle, volcanic stillness. The sky seemed to fracture like cooled glass, smelling faintly of scorched copper and sulfur.
    Eighty miles above the cracked basalt, the Aethelgard Beta-201 hung suspended in absolute, almost sacrosanct immobility. This was no crude machine reliant on the volatile thrust of chemical fires or anti-gravity plates. It was a localized singularity. By folding space into its central apex, the ship anchored itself with pure, unyielding gravity, leaving a suffocating pressure in the surrounding air.
    The hull was an unbroken cylinder of matte-black, tachyon-dense alloy. Discarding the vulnerabilities of lesser civilizations, it possessed no seams, rivets, or viewports. Instead, it swallowed the feeble light of the dying red star, absorbing every stray photon within a mile to cast a shadow of absolute nothingness upon the sky. To the nomadic tribes on the plains below, it appeared as a horizontal scar, a void in the heavens that demanded worship or dread.
    Deep within the vessel's core, Legate Theron stood motionless. Theron bypassed the flawed, easily deceived limits of human sight, connecting directly to the universe through sub-dermal neural implants that fed telemetry straight into his brain.
    The physical room dissolved. In its place, his mind awakened into a hyper-rendered digital expanse, an infinite, silent white void.
    Then came the data.
    Cascades of mathematical strings and glowing algorithms tore through the emptiness, constructing a flawless, simulated reality around his awareness. With a subtle, subconscious twitch of his thoughts, Theron grasped the floating windows of light. He brushed away the atmospheric static of the planet below, dragging vital system readouts into his central field of vision.
    He perceived it as a vibrating, logical grid. Shifting bands of thermal radiation painted the landscape in harsh infrared. Wireframe vectors mapped the quantum mass densities of the basalt below, revealing the planet's hidden flaws. Jagged gravity lines bent in real-time around the hull, tracking the invisible weight of the universe.
    The system made sense. Every variable had its proper place, and within this sphere of absolute awareness, Theron was master of its logic.

    "The organic matter is proliferating, Biomass accumulation has reached critical density in Sector 4," a sharp, perfectly synthesized female voice echoed directly inside his mind.
    It was Axia. The ship’s highly advanced artificial intelligence; her intricate digital architecture was completely integrated with Theron’s own neural network, a pinnacle of modern biomechanical engineering that bridged the gap between human thought and digital precision.
    Theron turned his head toward the eastern horizon. It was a rare, stubborn gesture of organic habit that he refused to abandon, even in an age of pure data.
    Through the high-resolution thermal telemetry blooming across his vision, the landscape was undergoing a horrifying metamorphosis. The dead basalt rock was vanishing beneath a writhing, bioluminescent carpet.
    The Swarm of Chitin had arrived in style.
    True to their brutal doctrine, they bypassed conventional dropships and simply rained down from the heavens. Hours earlier, thousands of living, calcarapaces, had breached the planet's atmosphere. They had buried themselves deep into Chitinized drop-pods, massive, armored gastropods protected by heat-shielded che volcanic soil before opening their biological hatches to release the living vanguard of the Biocracy.
    They were an ancient civilization who had mastered an impossible feat, bending evolution itself into a weapon of war.
    Towering ground-striders, standing an imposing four stories tall with razor-sharp crystalline bone blades for limbs, patrolled the perimeter of the landing zone. Their massive legs were packed with hyper-dense actin filaments, organic fibers capable of snapping a reinforced titanium chassis with a single, devastating stride. Beneath these titans swarmed millions of needle-ticks. Their tiny, translucent bodies pulsed with volatile, acidic enzymes, a bio-engineered chemical compound designed to dissolve synthetic armor on contact.
    Above the moving horde, the air grew thick with a yellow, spore-laden smog. It was a localized, breathing atmosphere, an aggressive biological agent designed to terraform the planet in real-time.
    “The target bio-mass presents an unacceptable deficit to efficiency,” Theron muttered aloud. His voice was flat, ruthlessly modulated by internal sub-vocal implants that precisely regulated his vocal cords to eliminate human error. “A chaotic mass of carbon and fluid, from there on.”
    “Correct. Their reproductive cycle follows a strict exponential progression,” Axia replied within his thoughts, her digital voice carrying an analytical chill. “The vectors will occupy the entire planetary surface within forty-eight hours if left unchecked.”
    “They will not be left unchecked,” Theron shifted his internal focus, recalculating the central coordinates of the plain to parse the anomalous data. “Isolate the third variable, from there on.”
    Suddenly, the telemetry feed sputtered.
    The clear stream of data died for a heartbeat like a candle caught in a sudden draft. For a fraction of a second, the quantum sensors in Theron’s mind registered a violent anomaly.
    It was a void. An absolute absence of matter where the universe simply broke.
    On the exact center of the plain, where the mechanical perfection of the spaceship Beta-201’s shadow met the creeping, foul edge of the Biocracy’s spore cloud, a single structure stood. It had not grown there, nor had it been built by the hands of men or the claws of beasts.
    A millisecond prior, the ground had been bare basalt; now, it simply was. It had folded into existence, bypassing the ship’s deep-space sensory grid as easily as a thief slipping through a broken gate.
    It was a spire of white, polished marble, pale as old bones and completely unmarred by the acidic fog or the heavy radiation that rained down from the ship above. The stone shone with a cold, clean light that felt entirely wrong in this dead place.
    At its base stood four figures. They wore no vacc-suits, no reinforced plates of alloy, and no breathing apparatus to keep the rot out of their lungs. Instead, they wore simple, unspun fibers of golden silver cloth. The fabric drifted and swayed in the toxic breeze as if the poisoned air were as sweet as a Terran spring, unmindful of the death that swirled around them.
    Theron felt a cold weight settle in his gut.
    The Sacred Order of the Void Initiators. The Tsootvi, the name of an old wives tale used to scare their children to bed, when and if they dared speak the name at all.
    "Sensors report zero technological output from the spire," Axia warned, her digital tone tightening. "Furthermore, cellular analysis of the four entities indicates zero genetic modification, zero cybernetic enhancement, and zero physical weaponry."
    "Then how are they breathing the spore cloud, from there on?" Theron asked, his ocular implants zooming in on the group.
    "Unexplained," Axia said. "The atmospheric toxicity within a ten-meter radius of their forms is precisely zero. The molecules are... refusing to bond with their lungs."
    Theron exhaled a sharp breath. Technology could be calculated. Biology could be mapped and exterminated. But the Order operated on a hidden ledger his algorithms could never balance.
    "Prepare the atmospheric descent," Theron ordered, bracing himself for what lay ahead. "Let us see what the Sacred Initiators want with this rock, from there on."

    The air warped, screaming under the sudden thermal spike as the descent module’s phase-displaced Theron onto the basalt plain. He landed with a heavy, metallic crunch, the shock-absorbers in his Alpha Kappa 5 Rho 10 power armor instantly compressing to bleed off the kinetic energy. Even with the internal dampeners engaging at ninety-eight percent efficiency, the sheer weight of his kinetic-barrier plating forced his boots an inch into the brittle obsidian, sending a web of fractures rippling across the dark stone.
    Bypassing physical sight, his neural telemetry translated the clearing into a hyper-rendered digital expanse.
    To the east, the environmental sensors flagged a massive biological signature pushing through a localized spore cloud. A Matriarch of the Biocracy slithered into the open. Her upper anatomy mimicked human geometry with terrifying precision, but her lower half was a massive, segmented length of serpentine chitin, each plate overlapping to form an evolutionary armor that the ship’s database categorized as completely bulletproof. Her multi-faceted, gemstone eyes caught the dying light of the red sun, tracking Theron's plasma-arc projectors with cold intent. Beneath her jaw, a translucent green sac rhythmically expanded and contracted, hissing softly as it compressed a bio-engineered neurotoxin that the HUD flagged as highly corrosive. Behind her, two heavily muscled guard-beasts lowed, their jaws dripping a low-pH digestive fluid that audibly hissed as it ate away at the basalt.
    Standing perfectly still between the two rival powers were the Initiators. Devoid of physical armor or biological adaptations, the anomalies utilized an unclassified energy signature drawn from the void to neutralize the toxic atmosphere. The speaker stepped forward, an elegant being whose sharp, angular features carried the distinct lineage of an ancient elder race. Geometric runes etched into her skin pulsed with a soft, steady gold light, humming at a specific spiritual frequency.
    But it was the entity flanking her that made Theron’s internal power grid spike. The being possessed no solid flesh, no face, and no discernible anatomy. It was a shifting, incandescent silhouette composed entirely of concentrated white and gold radiance. Its silence projected a crushing, physical aura of pure authority that pressed against Theron's external kinetic barriers, causing the suit's energy meters to drop by a steady, measurable fraction of a percent every single second.
    Slightly behind them stood their apprentice, a young woman named Freyja Astra Selene, le Xara of Valen de Rox. Or Fry, for short.
    To anyone looking, Fry was a statue of flawless, ascetic discipline. She held her chin at that precise, maddening angle the Order demanded, high enough to imply she could see the cosmic threads of fate, low enough to ensure she wasn't looking at the ceiling. Her silver robes billowed in the toxic wind like calculated poetry. She looked terrifyingly serene.
    Inside her skull, her mind was throwing a violent, screaming tantrum.
    Don't drop the rock… don't rock the drop… rock the drop don’t. Please, pretty please, whatever gods are left out there, please do not let me drop this stupid rock. Fry squeezed the raw, uncut crystal in her fist until her knuckles throbbed. She locked her jaw to keep from trembling. Look at Master Dharma. Look at her doing the mean lean. She’s doing the 'I have lived a thousand years and know the exact weight of gravity' mean lean. I literally watched her practice that exact tilt in the temple courtyard mirrors yesterday for three hours. If I trip over these ridiculous silk hems right now, I am passing away on the spot. The bugs won't even have to kill me; I will simply dissolve from cosmic embarrassment. Master D would tell me “Humility and acceptance would only materialize upon reaching Rock Bottom or the Bottom of that dropped Rock.”
    She didn't dare turn her head, but she cut her eyes sideways to gauge the newcomers.
    This is a disaster, her inner voice muttered, panicking furiously beneath the serene mask. On my right, Her Royal Bug Highness looks like a giant centipede had a tragic accident with a swimsuit model. And on my left... well.
    She peeked through the sensory layers of her crystal, the cosmic frequency stripping away the heavy kinetic plating of the Legate’s armor like peeling an onion. Beneath three tons of terrifying, weaponized alloy, the actual pilot was... surprisingly aesthetic. Sharp jawline. Messy, dark hair plastered with sweat. Piercing eyes locked in a furious glare.
    Oh, great, Fry thought, her internal monologue taking a sharp, flustered nose-dive. Mr. Shiny-and-Chrome is actually kind of cute. Like, brooding-doomed-soldier cute. Why does the genocidal cyborg collective get the hot ones? Stop it, Fry. Focus. He is literally trying to find a way to glass your entire hemisphere. Do not get a crush on the killer kitchen toaster appliance. Why did I think skipping meditation class to play diplomat on a dead rock was a good idea? I could be back on Valen de Rox eating honey-cakes right now. Instead, I'm breathing sulfur, hoping my robes don't catch fire, and blushing inside my own skull over a guy who wants to turn me into data. Regulate your breathing Fry, deep inhale for 8.5 celestial counts, hold for 3.3, exhale for 6.4. What would Master D say? “This too, shall pass.”
    "Legate Theron of Alpha Omega Prime-7563, Sector 348, Block 12, Unit 4 Beta" Master Dharma spoke. Her voice didn't need the air. It bypassed Theron's external com-links entirely, landing straight in the man's auditory cortex with the soft weight of a falling leaf. The Matriarch hissed, her tail lashing the cracked stone, proving the telepathic echo had struck her too. "And Brood-Mother Vane of the El Drazi Deep Mire. You bring your weapons to a cradle."
    "This planet holds the ruins of the First Builders," Theron said. His external speakers boomed, a synthetic roar designed to rattle bones. "Its geometric archives belong to our collective. We will catalog the data. We will harvest the core. Your presence is a trespass, from there on."
    Vane’s jaw split sideways, unhinging to reveal rows of wet, translucent needles. "The stone is old meat," she hissed, her voice a clicking chorus of a thousand invisible mandibles. "The bones of the old ones belong to the soil. We will feed them to the nurseries. We will grow stronger. The metal-men cannot eat the data. You only hoard it."
    "Your evolutionary track ends here, beast," Theron replied. The plasma cannons on his shoulders whirred, tracking her vital organs. "We have the firepower to glass this hemisphere before your spores can take root, from there on."
    The Matriarch reared back, her chest swelling as her chemical sacs began to ignite with a green, volatile bio-plasma.
    "ENOUGH…" Master Dharma whispered in a hushed explosive blast.
    The word wasn't loud, but it hit the plain like a tectonic hammer. A ripple of displaced air tore outward, flattening the dust and reaching the horizon in a single, impossible heartbeat, completely ignoring how sound and distance were supposed to behave. She didn't shout. She just raised a long, rune-carved finger. Beside her, the being of pure light flared into a blinding, oppressive sun.
    Through their mental bond, Fry felt Master Dharma’s consciousness push against hers. It was not a voice, but a sudden, vast memory of a room that had never existed, cold and heavy with the scent of starlight.
    “Exhale the shore, little spark. Let the tide of the unmade carry the stone.”
    Oh, spectacular. No pressure at all, Fry’s mind shrieked, her inner monologue squeaking in terror. Just rewrite the fundamental laws of physics in front of a giant killer cyborg and a prehistoric hyper-evolved centipede. Sure. If I get the multi-tonal vibrations wrong, I'm pretty sure my lungs will turn into liquid jello. Master D would tell me, "First Things First."
    Externally, Fry closed her eyes. She drew a slow breath of the toxic air, which her master’s passive aura was mercifully converting to crisp oxygen, and began a low, rhythmic chant. She forced her throat to mimic the hollow, echoing resonance she’d been taught, making herself sound like an ancient goddess speaking from the depths of a canyon. She poured every ounce of her frantic energy into the crystal, anchoring her mind to the absolute nothingness of the Void.
    An unseen distortion shuddered through the stone. It defied technology and bypassed chemistry. It was a cold, fundamental revision of cosmic law, reshaping what could exist.
    The plasma cannons on Theron’s shoulders died with a hollow click. The glowing power bars on his visor dropped to absolute black. His kinetic barriers vanished like mist. Across the clearing, the green fire in the Matriarch’s throat went cold. Her guard-beasts collapsed into the dirt, their legs buckling as their involuntary muscles simply forgot how to contract.
    A heavy, suffocating silence fell over the plain.
    "Holy stars, I did it. I actually did it, I believe in the higher power and it pays off, I guess."
    Fry’s inner voice cheered, doing a frantic, joyous backflip inside her brain.
    Take that, Order of the Silent Veil. Who’s the weakest initiate in the sector now, Grandmaster Guru Rin Roveche? I am literally holding down a planetary nullification field. Wait... my forearm is already cramping. Please don't let my hand shake. Keep the spooky goddess face on, Fry. Maintain majesty. If you sneeze right now, the spaceship falls and we all become pancakes. As Master D would say, "Do your things right and everything else will follow accordingly."
    Theron tried to flex his fingers, but the cybernetic neural bridge linking his brain to his suit was dead. He was trapped inside three tons of unpowered alloy, a prisoner in his own armor.
    Master Dharma stepped forward. With every stride of her sandals, the cracked basalt split further, tiny white flowers bursting from the stone, not grown from seeds, but pulled directly from the creative will of her mind.
    Look at her go, Fry thought, her internal panic turning into pure, dark amusement as she watched her master glide across the field. She loves this. She is such a drama queen. Meanwhile, I'm standing here holding a radioactive brick of pure cosmic will, trying not to pass out because I forgot to breathe.
    "The metal-born counts the stars to catch the rain," Dharma hummed, her voice vibrating through the stone rather than the air as she looked up at the sinking Aethelgard. "The flesh-born digs the soil to find the sky." She looked down at the Matriarch, who was dragging her heavy tail through the dirt. "You gather at the shore to split the waves, blind to that ocean that gave source to your desire."
    "What... did you do... to my grid? … from there on?" Theron forced his physical tongue to move, his vocal cords straining against the dead weight of the suit.
    "We gave your machine its oldest mirror, Theron," Dharma said softly. She stepped back, gesturing for Fry to take the lead.
    The young apprentice stepped forward, her crystal blazing with a soft, internal gold fire that illuminated her expressionless face.
    Alright, Fry. Final line. Don't stutter. Make it sound like you've done this a thousand times, she told herself, taking a mental deep breath as she pointed the glowing stone toward the center of the plain. A
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      + 01 -
      got cut due to max character count... continuation here
      Alright, Fry. Final line. Don't stutter. Make it sound like you've done this a thousand times, she told herself, taking a mental deep breath as she pointed the glowing stone toward the center of the plain. A proper quote from Master D for this would be, “The journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step.”
      A massive fissure tore open between the factions. No steam rose from the dark. No magma. Only a quiet, golden light that made the technical sensors of the ship and the biological senses of the Swarm utterly irrelevant.
      "The archives are not data, and they are not food," Fry said. Her voice carried that strange, multi-layered echo, ringing with a heavy authority that shocked both the Legate and the Brood-Mother. "They are an awakening that neither of you are ready for."
      Boom. Nailed it, her inner voice cheered triumphantly, even as her physical fingers began to go numb from the strain. Now... seriously, how do I turn this thing off before…
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        + 00 -
        I don't know what this is, but this is exactly what the Stellaris late game should look like.
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        1. Offline
          + 00 -
          is that game good?
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    2. Offline
      + 00 -
      wow lots of haters for it...if you don't like it then don't read it...envy much?
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    + 71 -
    What if Sunny kills him for the third time and gets a 3rd memory from the same guy? Lol

    Edit: Ah, the skimwalkers almost claimed me. It was Solvane he killed twice, not Noctis
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      + 20 -
      Barely made it pressure
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    + 121 -
    Obviously Sunny is gonna beat his ass. Which will be funny to see as he gets payback for all the times Noctis pulled Sunny's leg
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    + 191 -
    IS THAT THE IMMORTAL TRANSCENDENT, THE GREAT SORCERER OF THE EAST, BLESSED OF THE MOON, CRIMSON BEAST OF TWILIGHT, CHAIN LORD OF THE KINGDOM OF HOPE, THE GREATEST AND THE MOST HANDSOME HERO IN ALL THE MORTAL REALMS , THE ONE AND ONLY NOCTIS???
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    + 80 -
    For some reason, Sunny and SOH right now remind me of the dynamic between Fang Yuan and little Hu Immortal
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      + 21 -
      no kidding bro
      but SOH is little too demanding capared to little hu immortal
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      + 20 -
      It gives the same energy but fang yuan a nd little Hu is closer and more dependent on eachother
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    + 100 -
    Hail Noctis!🪑🪑🪑🪑🪑🪑
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    + 01 -
    Where can I read new chapters off lord of truth for cheaper or free.

    Or simply mention any site where there are novels I will search for myself
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    1. Offline
      + 01 -
      I read in this page. It's where the author upload the news chapters. It's around 100 chapters ahead of webnovel's. It's in arabic language, but if you use the translation feature of chrome, you can read it in english. And it's free as well.
      https://truthnovel.top/
      You're welcome <3
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        + 00 -
        Thank you 🕺
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  9. Offline
    + 10 -
    que hace Noctis diciendo estupideces
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  10. Online Offline
    + 60 -
    "The greatest — and most handsome — hero in all mortal realms!"
    So the greatest and most handsome fool is here to get his ass kicked?
    Please G3 you can't make him a mad immortal this time too
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    1. Online Offline
      + 10 -
      He probably doesn't even know desire is driving them insane yet
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