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Chapter 20 — The END, High Treason
🕑 Added 2024-04-13 11:34:58 +0000 UTC“I don’t get it…”
I muttered, my gaze fixed on the unconscious girl while Lysara circled the motionless heap.
The Goddess, with a sagely expression, delivered a firm slap to the girl's head like a sleazy car salesman. "Since she was created by Paradis, she is your kid by technicality, Nyan~!” She explained.
Confusion consumed me as I observed what Paradis had brought forth.
“But she doesn’t look the part,”
I pointed out.
After all, it was I who created the Paradiseans,
Despite their different appearance, I was intimately familiar with each of their biology inside out. Laying there, the girl shivered,
There was something stirring within her, gradually taking form, something that managed to surprise even I. "A Law?" I mused. It wasn’t just any Law, but a fundamental one similar to the basic Elements of Paradis.
“A Personification.” I said with certainty, it was the only explanation that seemed logical.
“Oh? That was quick.” Lysara cooed. “Have you met one, Nyan~?”
“It’s just a guess.” According to Earth’s fiction, Laws that emerged later and remained unclaimed would, in theory, develop their own consciousness.
If Law-Bearers were considered Deities, then these conscious Laws would be known as Personifications. Sporting a mischievous smile, the Feline Goddess declared, “But she’s no ordinary Personification, Sharru! She’s the END, Nyan~”
Confusion welled up within me as I fixated on the girl, the Conceptual Energy swirling within her. Suddenly, I found myself no longer in the familiar dimensions, but in a dark Void instead. Ahead of me lurked a colossal shark, capable of swallowing Paradis and its Stars in one gulp. It set its eyes on me, swimming forwards with maws wide and dripping. “All things shall meet their end, Sharru…”
I felt the Goddess’ tail coil around my wrist.
“The moment they come into existence, a countdown begins. For the Creators, our main threats are our… Less than lawful counterparts and the Voidspawns, but for our Creations, it is she. The END—the TRUE END.”
Everything Paradis had experienced and would face in the future seemed like mere Mini-Bosses in comparison.
This girl was the ultimate challenge—the Final Boss.
“I mean, she doesn’t seem all that strong for a final boss.”
I muttered on the sideline, observing as Lysara curiously sniffed the unconscious girl.
“She’s still young… Surprising, isn’t it, Nyan~?” The Goddess remarked, flicking her tail as she settled beside the END.
“Usually, it takes much longer for the END of a Universe to take shape, I’m talking 50 years at least.”
Scratching my chin, I pondered aloud, “What’s the typical lifespan of a Universe?”
“Well, that depends on how much care the Creator puts into it, but according to the latest survey, the average lifespan is around 100 to 150 years,”
She explained with a touch of wisdom. “And mind you, I’m referring to the Divine Calendar, not the arbitrary mortal years, Nyan~.”
So approximately 100 to 150 trillions years then. “I don’t understand… If our powers grow with our Creations, why wouldn’t Creators take good care of their Universes?”
“Who can say?” Lysara yawned lazily. “Maybe they simply fall out of love? Or perhaps their Universe has become too vast to properly maintain… Usually, it’s the latter, which leads to burnout, then loss of interest…”
The Goddess's voice trailed off, and I nodded in understanding.
I had experienced that same loss of passion before, in certain hobbies and activities. Games that used to captivate me, soccer matches with friends during my middle school days– I used to join them enthusiastically. Although I wasn’t particularly skilled, it was always a source of fun. But when I had to move schools, everything took a turn for the worse.
It was inevitable, really.
Time was necessary for cliques and groups to form, for bonds to strengthen.
It’s all in the past now. ‘Would I eventually lose interest in Paradis too?’ I wondered silently, but chose not to voice my thoughts. “Of course, some Creators prefer a more… Hands-off approach and let the inhabitants deal with the END themselves. Unfortunately, it rarely ends well for Creation. Get it? ‘End,’ Nyan~?”
Lysara playfully raised her eyebrows, prompting me to respond with a deadpan expression. “I get it…”
Gazing at the girl lying before me, I furrowed my brow. “What should I do with her?”
Lysara casually used telekinesis to toss the girl near my feet. “Whatever you desire. As the END, she cannot truly die anyway. Defeating her would only provide a temporary resolution to an everlasting problem—a mere bandage on a continuously festering wound.”
“Is it possible to sway her to my side?” I inquired.
Lysara chuckled, her tail swaying. “You can certainly try, Nyan~ I wouldn’t hold my breath, though.”
“Has anyone ever tried before?” I inquired. Throughout the Ages, surely there must have been Creators who attempted to convert the ENDs to good? Surely.
“More than I can count,”
Lysara responded, her tone—though upbeat and cheerful—was tinged with a hint of helplessness. Then, the Feline Goddess grins mischievously at me. “But would you make a mutt survive on a pure plant-based diet? Would you blame a wild animal for biting someone? Would you blame a child for crying?”
“We have the power to make those desires a reality, if we so choose.” A frown crept on my face as I continued. “The limitation lies not in our abilities, but in our wants.”
“But you see, it is indeed a limitation. All things, whether willing or not, are drawn back to the Void… Even us,” Lysara retorted. My brows furrowed as I anxiously tapped my fingers on the Golden Tablet. I couldn’t help but recall the fear I once felt towards the Void, a helpless sensation akin to that of a child.
Of course, Godhood alleviated those fears by a lot.
After all, threats became significantly less daunting when you could annihilate them with a black hole or effortlessly teleport adversaries into one.
That’s precisely why slasher movies never frightened me. They were enemies I could defeat, albeit with great difficulty– mortal foes who were susceptible to Death.
The Void, on the other hand, always loomed, an eternal battleground between Nothingness and Creation, forever in search of what they both lacked.
“And you have the audacity to claim that ‘all things seek to return?’ There is nothing to return to, Lysara, quite literally!” I exclaimed, perhaps a bit overly dramatic. I simply couldn’t wrap my head around it. Why would anyone, Divine or Mortal, desire ‘Nothingness’? How desperate must one be? At least the religious fanatics on Earth clung to some semblance of hope… Flawed as it may be, it was still hope.
If the Devil had truly existed, I imagined it’s only the prospect of escaping Hell that kept him pushing forward.
“That’s the point, Nyan~” She grinned wickedly. “One day, I too shall embrace—”
“Don’t!” I interrupted her sharply, my glare piercing and sharp. “Don’t you dare say that, especially with such a cheerful smile on your face!”
“Why are you getting so worked up about it? It’s just the natural cycle of life. We can’t stop it anyway, so let’s just hope that when our time comes, it’s a grand exit, Nyan~!” If Lysara had arms, I could easily picture her pumping them in the air like an overly excited child. She didn’t seem afraid. “How?” I wondered, astounded by her acceptance.
Mankind has always been afraid of death, even those who were religious– many of whom genuinely believed in an Afterlife, whether it be Heaven, Pure Land, Elysium, Valhalla, Hells… you name it. But still, they feared Death.
“Time. When you reach my age, you’ll understand, Nyan~” Lysara said, lightly slapping my back with her tail before hopping away. “By the way, how long was I asleep for?”
“23,661 years, 3 months, and approximately 12 days.”
“Is that all, Nyan~?”
“What do you mean ‘is that all’?” I questioned, my imaginary nose crinkling in confusion.
Lysara let out a yawn. “That’s just a light nap for me, Sharru.”
I chuckled at the thought. Considering how little value Time held for us, 23 thousand mortal years were nothing more than a fleeting breeze.
Although I rarely acknowledged it, there were moments when I would freeze up too, lost in my own thoughts, fixated on something so incredibly mundane like the falling of leaves or the passing of the Sun, only to snap out of it and found that decades, sometimes centuries had passed in the blink of an eye.
“Well, aren’t you going to do something about her?” Lysara asked, gesturing towards the suspended figure.
I glanced at the hovering heap, and contemplated my next move. “Any suggestions?”
Lysara raised an eyebrow. “Put her in a dungeon and throw away the key, duh!”
“But,” I hesitated, looking at the Personification as the END. “She hasn’t done anything yet…”
“Do you want to see Paradis in ruins before you take action? You’re fortunate, Sharru. ENDs are usually born much later in the development phases of the Universe, making them incredibly difficult to locate. You’ve been handed the final boss on a silver platter. What is there to hesitate?”
The words I was about to utter got stuck in my throat—bitter and foul.
Was I willing to endanger Paradis for the sake of one person, regardless of their innocence?
The answer was clear: No.
No, I couldn’t do it.
With a swift movement of my hand, I relinquished her to the Universal Will. If her purpose was nothing more than to bring about the destruction of Paradis, then it would be Paradis’ own Will that would judge and pass sentence upon her. As the wise man once said, ‘If a decision is too difficult, make it someone else’s problem.’
‘Don’t you take it too far.’
I warned as the Will absorbed a significant portion of the generated CE to construct a towering structure, positioned precisely at the heart of Paradis, just a few thousand miles from Shatia.
There, the tower—the ‘prison’, really—would constantly receive a stable flow of Conceptual Energy to keep its walls strong.
The more Paradis prospered, the more fortified the Tower.
Within this prison, the END would have access to ample resources and things to occupy itself with.
Hopefully, this would deter the progression of the END long enough for Paradis to have a chance to defend itself.
Glancing back at the Mortal Realm, I was taken aback to see the rebels had been brought back, chained and all. “Already?” It had been six months for the mortals while I deliberated on what to do with the END.
The journey back had taken longer due to the rebels and loyalists assisting with the cleanup of Sharrä.
Coupled with the rebels’ poor conditions, they needed a few extra months to gather their belongings and make their way back.
When Pïer informed his family about the news, tears welled up in everyone’s eyes at Sharru’s ‘heroic sacrifice’. Pïer even created a small altar with a complete statue as a memorial. “Your Lordship... What should this be called?” One of the invited artisans asked. Few knew what thoughts occupied the High Lord’s mind; all they knew was that he had been strangely silent since my ‘departure’.
Witnessing the fascinating paradox from above, I couldn’t help but find myself amused in the situation. On one hand, he was relieved by my demise, yet on the other, guilt consumed him for harboring such emotions.
It was expected.
I had taught him that the lives of Kings were riddled with treachery, far more dangerous than those of peasants. One misstep and it could cost him his life. Was it any wonder Pïer was paranoid?
“This statue shall be known as ‘the Scribe, the Kingmaker,’” He declared calmly, “Keep it spotless… Whoever dares disrespect him, will die without a corpse.”
The sculptors, gripped with fear, averted their gazes. Everyone had heard the derogatory labels the Council had bestowed upon him and ‘Sharru’. He had essentially declared war upon the Council, albeit not openly.
‘The Shit Lord’, ‘The Excrement Mage’, ‘The Dung-Flinger’, ‘The Non-Mage Lover’,
Such whispers would circulate behind his back.
Yet, through a skillful public relations campaign, his actions were portrayed in a mostly positive light to most of the normal populace.
Certainly, there were a few dissenters who looked upon him with disgust, but the enslaved rebels sung nothing but praises for Pïer.
That brief spectacle surrounding my ‘death’ had ingrained a sense of compassion within their minds. They didn’t perceive the ‘War of Wastes’ as an underhanded, shameful act, but rather an opportunity for peaceful surrender the High Lord had graciously granted them. ‘The whitewashing and copium are truly baffling.’
But that is the essence of effective public relations.
Both the wise and the foolish often fell prey to the charisma trap, seeking victory and complete domination over their adversaries, rather than reason and logic.
In all honesty, it’s not like Pïer was lying when he said he cared about the normal populace, but… He’s still a Mage. He was going to have certain prejudices, for the simple reason having Magic—the ability to bend reality over like an ugly bastard would an anime highschool girl—did make him better. Even if the Sharrï figured out a way to harness their Life-Force, a Mage was just more versatile than any Martial Artist could claim to be, ‘Rarer too.’
The Gene for the Mystic was usually passed on, parents to child, but certain complications could arise during the pregnancy, where the Gene became recessive instead.
Yet another reason for Pïer to be hated by the Council, and why his marriage to his maid was so frowned upon.
In order to prevent the birth of Non-Mages, the Mages would only reproduce within their own circles.
Despite these efforts, one out of every three children still suffered from this condition. Desperate for a cure, the Mages funded research, but the fatality rate was alarmingly high. They even used their own children as subjects for these experiments…
The Council went to great lengths to address this issue, yet here was Pïer, defying all odds with his Non-Mage wife, effortlessly birthing three healthy children.
This unanticipated outcome caused other High Lords and Ladies to seek alternative methods of reproduction from the normal populace. Their pride, however, prevented them from engaging in intimate relations with the -lower lifeforms’. Instead, they resorted to magical extraction of sperm and eggs.
Needless to say, this only added fuel to the fire… It’s a feedback loop, where the growing anger among the normal population intensified the heavy-handed actions of the Sages and their Council. The dissidents, once spoken in hushes and whispers, had grown louder than ever. “Are we not people?” They’d ask. “Did the Mother and Father create us just to toil away until we die?”
After coming back, Pïer aggressively challenged every decision made by the Council, yet he never managed to succeed. It perfectly aligned with his intentions.
The High Lord hadn’t expected to convince the Sages to change their minds; he saw it as a chance to further tarnish their reputation, which he achieved remarkably.
The deep-rooted animosity that had been building over generations was intensifying like never before.
The Sharrï society was collapsing inward at an exponential speed. Half a decade after the ‘War of Wastes’, the High Lord was saddled with increasingly challenging problems he must solve. With the mentality, ‘Whatever it takes’, Pïer was able to tackle the issues with answers which, while unorthodox and disgraceful at times, more often than not worked wonderfully.
At long last, the some of the Sages finally realized what Pïer was doing, unfortunately their warnings went unheeded by their fellow Mages, who saw the rising High Lord as little more than an useful tool. In the year 23,666 of the Age of Creation, Pïer finally rose to his new position. A High Lord he was no longer, instead he’s now one of the Sages.
All the most menial things were delegated to him, even the job of educating the younger generations, which Pïer took advantage of extensively to spread his ideology.
Throughout this, the Sage never complained, instead he worked so hard even his family rarely saw him, until one day, a platoon of guards—many of whom were visibly reluctant and uncomfortable to be there—burst into his classroom. “Lord Pïer,”
“Captain.” The Sage nodded, his expression unchanged. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
“I’m afraid you’re under arrest, sir.”
“For what crimes?” One of his students asked.
“The crime of high treason.”
The Captain displayed his identification, revealing a series of recordings showing Pïer engaged in discussions with the rebels about overthrowing the Council.
“I regret to inform you, Milord, that the Council has summoned you.” A tense silence enveloped the classroom, with both factions anticipating an outburst from the recently appointed Sage. However, Pïer remained composed and even responded with a hint of humor in his voice. “Very well, Captain. Lead the way.”
