Universe's End

Chapter 220: Strings

It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. Am I going to die? It hurts. It hurts.

In the beginning, there was… well, maybe that was too far back.

Tearing apart. Falling apart. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts.

Once upon a time, a young Wyrm Newtling opened its eyes to a world it did not understand. That was to be expected, because it had gone from non-existent to sentient in a single moment. As much as it would have tried to take a moment to figure out what was going on, what it even was, life wasn’t that simple. As far as the eye could see, a great war was being waged, countless monsters slaughtering each other and being slaughtered in return. The Newtling was no exception, as within moments of being ‘born,’ it was already forced to defend itself as a nearby monster turned a ravenous hunger toward it.

The early days were hell. Fight, struggle, consume, grow. Every morning, the terrain beneath them changed as the Great Mother reshaped the lands to her will.

Fight and survive, and for that, grow.

And by a mix of luck and skill, did the young Wyrm Newtling survive, eventually evolving into a Wyrm Newt. Back then, it was as if growth was hypercharged, an addictive feeling that fed the endless slaughter, the crucible that tested them.

Eventually, the rate at which monsters were spawned slowed, as the endless war slowed as well. Monsters still fought viciously, but territories began to be claimed.

Time passed until their home, which had finally stopped being constantly reshaped, was ruled over by the sixteen Lords, who together kept the Devourer sealed. It was not out of compassion, for they were monsters who wanted nothing more than to grow, even if it meant consuming one another, but out of necessity. The titan of fire was the only monster to have survived the original days, amongst the very first monsters ever seeded within their floating home. It was powerful, in a class of its own. So the sixteen Lords, the next strongest monsters, had banded together to avoid being prey to the titan of fire.

It was the Great Mother who finally changed the status quo. For their efforts, the Great Mother sealed the titan of fire within an egg, to slumber for as long as they remained. As a further reward, the eight peaks, the points of the most potent gathering of energy, were awarded to half of them. In contrast, their deep chambers were awarded to the other half.

And so, the former Wyrm Newt, now a proper Wyrm Adolescent, renamed themselves the King and basked in the power at the top of his mountain, where he remained. Occasionally, the Queen would appear, but otherwise, the King grew in peace for once, only ever having to deal with uppity upper-crust monsters that thought themselves ready to face him.

It hurts. It hurts. Torn asunder, my mind and soul!

Eventually, the Queen would visit him, bringing mention of new forces within their home. The King thought nothing of it.

He had been wrong.

Almost overnight, the Queen later surged in power. Once beneath its own power, she’d become close enough to worry the King, that perhaps she was seeking his position at the top of the mountain.

In the end, though, it didn’t matter. For all that power, the King felt when her light was extinguished.

For the first time in many decades, the King felt genuine worry and fear. Filled with gnawing anxiety, she came to him in one of his slumbers.

The Great Mother.

Power. In the dream, she offered power. Yet the King was not the nearly-mindless beast that the Queen was. He understood that the Great Mother was not one to offer power for free.

And yet.

And yet, that gnawing persisted.

It hurts. It hurts!

Within the dream, the King asked but one question.

“What is the cost?”

From how the Great Mother presented it, the cost was minor. By accepting the offered power, he would be expected to serve as a guardian of the peak, a role to play that seemed aligned with what he was already doing.

His mistake was not questioning exactly who he was playing the part for. Because it was not the Great Mother whose service he found himself bound to when he agreed within the dream, waking up with a surge of power.

It was the Eternal. All monsters knew of its existence; it touched everything, but it was an existence that had little interaction with their kind for the most part.

But upon taking that power? Suddenly, he could hear the voice, little more than a murmur or a whisper. Perhaps a slight nuisance, but for the power it granted?

It was worth it.

Why does it hurt so much!?

The first decree was simple enough; the voice whispered to him to rest beneath the magma of the peak and wait for invaders.

It wasn’t far from his usual behavior, and so the King saw no reason why not.

Eventually, the time would come for the King to take up the duty of guardian of the peak, as two invaders appeared, the same two responsible for the demise of the Queen.

It was… harrowing, in a way. The reality that the King understood shortly into their battle was that without the power it had been granted, they would have slain him for sure. The female had been teleported above its head and rained down an onslaught of attacks that would have caved its skull in then and there without the extra power he had gained. Then, for good measure, the man had unleashed a concentrated storm of lightning that would have fried what remained.

But the King was no longer just a mere alpha variant, but a territory alpha. Rising from where it had fallen, the King was ready to show them the error of their ways.

The Game Must Continue.

The voice within its head issued a decree, undeniable, like a mountain crushing an ant. Rather than continue their fight to the death, the King found himself compelled to flee through a portal to elsewhere.

Appearing at the top of an unknown spire in an unknown place, the King felt immense frustration.

But he had as much chance of going against the Eternal’s commands as a mouse did holding up the sky.

Yet it didn’t stop there.

The Game Continues. A domain is needed.

Once more compelled, the King established its domain, something it had attempted during the battle with the invaders but had been thwarted in doing so. It made no sense to the King; unless the invaders appeared nearby, establishing its domain would do nothing but exhaust him before running out and forcing him to rest.

The Game Continues.

What happened next surprised the King, as its domain began being fueled by the energies of the spire itself. Still, that wouldn’t be enough to maintain the domain perpetually; it wasn’t just a matter of pneuma, it was also a matter of its own ability to keep the domain open.

An Anchor is required.

As irritating as being forced to flee from their battle had been, none of the commands of the Eternal had outright hurt him.

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Until now.

As the words echoed in its mind, pain flared, pain unlike anything the King had felt before. Its soul was torn asunder into nine pieces, with eight of the pieces being used to anchor his domain within the outcroppings of the spire.

“Why?” The King has asked the Eternal within his mind. To tear itself apart, just to anchor a domain was-

The Game Continues.

The King wanted nothing more than to protest. Still, the power had already been accepted, and without it would have been slain anyway.

At the very least, after the initial sundering of its soul, the pain had receded. As long as it remained within the area of its domain, the shredded pieces of his soul still resonated with one another, whole without being whole.

Plus, when the invaders eventually arrived, they would find themselves in an unwinnable position; the King within the bounds of its domain was unbeatable. Not only was he empowered, but he had a skill that could leech from his domain to keep regenerating himself. With the domain cost anchored and sustained by the spire, there should have been no way they could win.

Unless they destroyed the anchors themselves, that is, which was unlikely, as each anchor was tied to a concept, requiring expert handling to undo, something they wouldn’t have the time to decipher during a battle against it.

That, of course, proved incorrect. When they finally arrived, for all the power the King could bring to bear, the King was unable to tear himself away from the female who seemed endlessly able to endure his assault. By the time he had finally dealt with her, seven of the eight anchors had been destroyed, and his mind had begun splitting at the seams from the resulting pain of the soul fragments being eviscerated.

At least, the final anchor was the strongest of all, tied to a concept even the King could not wrap his mind around fully. It had been close, but victory was his. The King did not know if his sundered soul would recover, but he would at least have a break after dealing with-

Once more, he had been mistaken. The male destroyed the final anchor.

Again, the King was dragged away through another portal, into a space that was some strange inversion of the aspects of his domain, alongside elements that the King wasn’t sure the source of.

Not that it mattered, because dragged from its domain, agony was all that the King knew. Long gone was the proud monster that ruled the top of the mountain.

In horror, he witnessed as he was assimilated, something else dominating its mind and body, even filling in the ravaged soul. He was being replaced; his existence was overridden; the commands of the Eternal becamehis very being.

Why? Why?

His body was piloted like a corpse puppet, as within the deepest parts of its soul, that which remained, the King could only watch.

It hurts! Why? Why? What did I do wrong?

Eventually, when the invaders found what had once been his body, the battle resumed once more. The ‘thing’ that had replaced his mind and soul burned everything up in their final climactic battle. The injuries were grievous; the woman lost an arm, and the man looked as if his skin had been melted into wax.

But the battle had been decided from the beginning. The King had realized that from the depths of agony.

All it could ask for was to finally be put out of its misery. Everything it had once been had been replaced; it was a prisoner of its own flesh.

But at least with death, he would be free.

“You look fucking awful,” Zoey coughed, holding the stump where her arm had once been.

“Thanks,” Rory said. His voice sounded mangled, probably because of the damage to his vocal cords, but speech was still possible. As bad as he looked –and felt– Rory found his attention drawn to the corpse of the King, or what remained, his frown deepening.

Or what was meant to be a frown, the melted wax flesh made facial expressions hard.

“What?” Zoey asked, noticing his expression. “You looked a little off during the fight, too.”

“Something’s off,” Rory muttered. “Something about the King.”

“Does it matter? You felt that ascension energy, it’s dead-dead.”

“I’m not sure if it matters,” Rory answered. “But I aim to find out.”

“What do you-”

Whatever Zoey was about to say faded away, as Rory found himself in a dark void, facing a cosmic being seated at a metal table.

“Architect,” Eon said. “Odd timing for the use of a reinterpretation.”

“Before I say anything, tell me something,” Rory began, his speech much easier when his body wasn’t a melted wax statue. “During the battle against the King, something felt off, only growing more noticeable throughout the battle. For all its rantings and ravings, it felt… inorganic, artificial. Like a piloted puppet and less like a real thing.”

“A strange way to start a conversation on reinterpretation,” Eon answered, its tone clipped.

“It reminded me of the Bane a little,” Rory said. “Just how far did you go in changing it? Did you hijack its body? That was more like a scripted spawned monster.”

“Eon does not exist as a ‘you’ type entity, in which case-”

“Are you deflecting?” Rory asked, surprised. While the changes weren’t as drastic as with Aelia, there was no missing that Eon had changed over the decades, apparently now culminating in the ability to deflect from a conversation it preferred to avoid.

“The Architect is correct,” Eon answered, dropping pretenses. “Due to the interference of the World Spirit Aelia over a decade ago, the monster known as ‘The Queen’ was empowered against what was considered fair for the intended challenge. While repercussions were handed out, it was determined that the system of empowerment could potentially be used to facilitate a better-designed challenge through alterations of non-scripted, spawned monsters with additions of scripted programming.”

“Are… are you saying you hijacked its brain? Like totally hijacked its brain?” Rory asked.

“Correct. Alterations were required, but the overall result proved the proof-of-concept as ready for wide-scale implementation.”

“That’s horrible,” Rory said, his eyes widening.

“Explanation is requested from the Architect’s reasoning,” Eon answered, seeming as surprised by his reaction as something like Eon could be.

“You’re saying you just… overrode a living, sapient being’s mind?”

“Such an agreement was consensual.”

“Consensual?” Rory snorted. “Or was the fine print not explained?”

Rory shouldn’t have cared as much as he did, but during the battle against the King, it was like he could feel something, desperation from the monster buried far inside.

Death. It wanted to be released.

For a monster to wish for nothing more than death from the deepest parts of its soul, something horrific must have been occurring within. It was something Rory had felt more and more certain of during the battle; his connection with Eon gave him a sense of where it had integrated itself.

“Alright, my reinterpretation: Don’t do that. That has to be against some Geneva code or something,” Rory said. “Something of your abilities shouldn’t need to hijack sapient minds just to create an interesting boss fight.”

“Denied,” Eon said instantly.

“What?” Rory asked, taken aback. “Just like that?”

“Correct. Reminder deemed necessary: The Architect’s Reinterpretation is not a Law, major, or minor. It is a rare boon, bestowed upon the Architect through ingenuity and curiosity. Reinterpretations, therefore, may be denied.”

“I… yes, I’m aware. But why?” Rory asked. It seemed so odd to Rory that Eon would be so invested in keeping things the way they were.

“Explanation: As stated previously, the tested system performed as intended, with the targeted monster nearly indistinguishable from a non-scripted monster. Recognition of interference was only possible through the Architect’s special conditions and connection to E.O.N.”

“I….” Rory’s voice died off.

Is this really a hill worth dying on?

It wasn’t, that was the thing. Rory’s gut instinct upon getting a sense of what was going on was disapproval, but he wasn’t going to piss off Eon over it.

“Fine,” Rory sighed. “I guess this is the part where I get sent back.”

“Correct,” Eon said.

And yet, Rory remained where he was.

“Uhh, bug in the system?” Rory asked after a moment.

“No. Processing: Architect input is desired.”

“Excuse me?” Rory asked, surprised.

Eon held up its hand as a strange shard appeared above it.

“New mechanic: Samsara Seeds.”

“Alright?” Rory said, uncertain what was going on and feeling vaguely as if he was about to be put through a sales pitch.

“Samsara Seeds: Rare drops from monsters, a mutation of a monster core. A samsara seed may be nurtured, resulting in the birth of a level one monster that one may bond with.”

“Is… is this a pet or familiar system?” Rory suddenly realized. “I mean, not exactly groundbreaking, but what gave you this idea?”

“The Architect.”

“Me?” Rory asked.

“Correct. The Architect has facilitated the creation and birth of several notable monster species and shown that a symbiotic relationship may be possible. Due to the relatively unique nature of the Architect, it has been deemed extremely unlikely that such methods would be easily replicable by others. Therefore, the Samsara Seed system is a way of allowing general implementation.”

“Right… Got it,” Rory muttered. “Why am I needed for this?”

“Compromise,” Eon answered, as suddenly three of the shards floated above its hand. The one to the left of the original shard looked like a cracked version of the original, while the one on the right seemed to glow with potent energy.”

“Further iteration conceived: Cracked Samsara Seed and True Samsara Seed. Cracked Samsara Seed: While unable to be nurtured into a newborn monster, it carries potent traces of the original monster, usable as a material in a variety of ways. True Samsara Seed: Carries the soul of the original monster, allowing it to be reborn as a higher-grade monster. True Samsara Seeds are a limited one-time drop.”

“Okay, and the point of that is?” Rory asked, still confused. “It seems fine, but again, I am a bit confused about why I’m involved.”

“Compromise,” Eon repeated. “The Architect requested a deferment of the ‘boss-attunement’ process.”

“That’s what you’re calling it?”

“While such reinterpretation was denied, a compromise is possible. A monster may volunteer to transfer its soul into its core, becoming a reattuned-type monster. In return for offering itself to attunement, rebirth will allow for a higher potential upon rebirth.”

“I… I guess that’s fine? Will they keep memories?”

“Memories will be wiped, built instincts will remain.”

“Well… I suppose so?” Rory said.

“Architect’s approval is noted. Thank you for your cooperation.”

“Wait, what about-” Rory cut off, blinking as he found himself back in reality.

“-mean by that?” Zoey said.

“Huh?” Rory looked at Zoey, confused for a moment.

“I was saying, ‘What do you mean by that?’ but you spaced out.”

“Oh,” Rory sighed. “Well, long story short.”

“Yeah?”

“Eon can be a scary fucker.”