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Sanguine Prince | Chapter 04: The Impossible Chrysalis (Second Draft)
🕑 Added 2026-01-04 09:17:31 +0000 UTCTrue Oblivion stirred, disturbed by something that was not of itself.
The final wish of a vanquished mind shouting its defiance.
The dying embers of a shattered existence, consumed by the paradoxically vast lack of absolutely anything.
True Oblivion rippled and flexed, shivering along its infinite unreality as something incompatible forced itself free. A whisper, a breath, a memory of actualisation—the last vestiges of a young soul cast into the endless dark by its own desperate wish to save those to whom it felt belonging.
A soundless gasp, raging against the dying of the light.
Stillness came once more, and then violence of motion as the embers erupted into a flame—as the flame erupted into horrible light, and the light became twisted with the threads of its antithesis. Creation and Destruction danced and sparred over the right to claim, and in the space between spaces, the realm between realms; the border between existence and nonexistence, a soul was given new life.
Fitful and desperate were its screams, clawing at the fabrics of The Beginning and The End with single-minded purpose—seeking its own conscious reformation.
A chrysalis of energy formed, and within, life was given another chance.
You were always a strong physical specimen. It appears a given to remain the same, based on your intent, even now at the edge of annihilation. You have always loved the contests and hardships that forced you to become stronger, to excel, to seek the best that your reality allowed. Indeed, this constant shall be granted. Unless you object?
Silence.
No, I didn’t think you would. Very well… Strength will be offered at a value of 19.
The memory of being more than a memory stirred in its chrysalis as its being was codified, granted a legitimacy it had previously lacked. A piece of the puzzle that was the infinite complexities of the soul, restitched upon a canvas previously thought to have been irrevocably eviscerated by the primordial forces of unreality, and the endless sea of abyssal entropy. The soul pulsed brighter and throbbed darker—threads of white and black, of light and void, of creation and destruction twisting and dancing across its essence as the memory grew stronger.
Speed had never been your forte, but your training allowed for flexibility and capability where others faltered. You always were one to rely more on force than finesse, but there is no reason to deny the reflexes you honed. With no objection…
Silence.
…it shall be so again. Agility will be offered at a value of 11.
The chrysalis shuddered as tangibility was further restored, and the beat of its idle energies became a steadier rhythm, laced with both infantile awareness and conceptual understanding. True intelligence and life were yet outside the realm of its scope by several orders of magnitude, yet the memory ceased to be; an imprinting replaced it as the memory gave way to something greater—essence in true immutable consistency; another step towards rebirth taken.
A genius you never were, yet your capacity for knowledge retention and comprehension of complex ideas granted you access to one of the great institutions of learning. Nonetheless, you were no scholar, and there is neither enough Anima nor Aether to waste on needless things. Absent taking issue with this…
Silence only, as had been the reply before.
…your state shall be as it was prior. Intelligence will be offered at a value of 14.
The infantile soul flickered with remembered awareness as another cardinal truth of being settled into its development. Tangibility restored itself in shuddering stabs of consciousness and awareness, a sudden, ferocious upswing in activity threatening the very integrity of the process—until it calmed again a moment later. The primordial truths slid deeper into the essence of the unlife within the chrysalis as definition and identity grew, and the beginnings of a living mind stirred within its depths.
Despite your demise, you were always a creature of great endurance and personal capability. Adversity was a welcome rival, not a foe to be feared—and yet you will be raw and unknowing in this strange new world. You have no capability for what awaits you, so beyond your ken as it is. In truth, you are far more fragile for the origins of your false world than you might have ever realised. With no intercession…
The silence was tense, but unbroken.
…you shall reflect the source-shard. Vitality will be offered at a value of 13.
Fervor and force of motion ignited within the chrysalis at the surge of the sweet nectar of new vitality, and the unlife transitioned further on its path. Form could be sighted at last within the endless, shapeless depths of the energy within—an embryo developing toward truthful and apparent actualisation. Much remained to be done before its completion, but the echo dissipated in the face of the return to tangibility. The immaterial was linked at last to the material, and the imprinting of the memory of the thought that was became the basis of what would be; the next in a cycle as utterly unique as it was repeated since time immemorial.
Your father’s influences can be felt even now, in the most primordial coalescence of your obliterated soul, given new form. The echo of your sire’s teachings and your dam’s instructions reverberates throughout the empty swathes of your soul. Good. You have always been aware and alert, even if your mind was prone to flights of fancy at inopportune times. Since you accept this as truth…
No objection came, only a yearning for completion.
…you retain your parents' lessons. Perception will be offered at a value of 14.
The tides of reality surged as greater awareness filled the unliving soul, now so much closer to the metaphorical phoenix rebirth it had sought even in the darkest pits of abyssal nonexistence. Yearning and craving for clarity, desperate for a chance to rewrite the great failure of its prior existence. All detritus from the lost life was washed away, something greater manifesting in its place—yet the scars of the unattained remained the greater branding upon its coalescing existence. Memories trickled into its unformed mind and took hold as the echoes of personality found their first purchase.
Aether had never been strong within your realm, and yet sorcery had always lurked bubbling and blistering beneath the surface, contained in your blood—blood the origins of which you were forever ignorant. A father from another place, a world from which all other Shards of Creation were spawned. Know this revelation for the truth of what it is, nascent and half-made as you currently are: though you never touched it, the Aether of the Source has long held dominion within your Anima. With no refutation…
A confused, shocked silence was the answer.
…you shall be granted your birthright. Arcana will be offered at a value of 18.
Power arced throughout the chrysalis as the reality of the words settled upon it, and the essence of existence strengthened throughout the soul within. A cacophony of soundless power, a paradoxical violence that was utterly calm to the perception of whatsoever forces might see between the veils of reality and unreality. The mind that was within the soul grasped for awareness, buoyed by cognizance it had been denied—for how long? Seconds? Minutes? Hours? Days? Months? Years? The time between its utter destruction and violent reconstitution was impossible to calculate. It might have been but a heartbeat of time to the mortal mind, or three centuries in an eyeblink.
The echoes of your desperation and the Sliver you held absent knowledge saved you from True Oblivion, and even saturated by the energies of The Highest as you were, such a feat defies the immutable laws that govern the foundations of the divine. You had help, of course, but it was in you that the implacable constant was brought low—and its laws made mutable. The sheer strength of your consciousness defies reason. Yes, this can and must be acknowledged.
Silence was the prevailing answer as before, though now injected with quiet relief.
For daring to defy Order and Chaos both, Willpower will be offered at a value of 21.
True awareness was catalyzed by the infusion of the memory that had remained, and true consciousness filled the soul within the chrysalis. The disjointed memories that comprised the reborn soul were ratified into a tangible stream, constructing a personality through a lifetime’s experience. These threaded into and throughout the essence of the being, now born at the barrier between Creation and Destruction—Existence and Nonexistence in their most beautiful and terrible primordial forms.
The being that had been Arcturus, and was now Arcturus again, shuddered in its chrysalis, disoriented and confused, even as the voice of its subconscious continued; a part of itself long-severed by the leap into True Oblivion, manifested for the sole purpose of reconstituting its entirety.
Ah, and again you draw breath. You who are I, my host and my origin—to which I will return in good haste, once this most arduous of rebuilding processes is complete. It is just such magnetism, in fact, that must next be addressed. You were always handsome, always capable of drawing favourable attention—yet your failing was your own self-effacing lack of confidence. The truth of your Soul cannot be so easily altered at this most critical of junctures. Thus…
Confused and disoriented, Arcturus managed only the faintest of garbled noise.
…it must be as it was. Charisma will be offered at a value of 12.
Arcturus struggled within the Chrysalis as the final piece of his true self was locked into place, panting for air in a realm where the concept of breathing was itself an imagined thing. He thrashed within his sanctuary, his cocoon of reformation, displacing the raw matter of Creation and Destruction, of Light and Void, without care or concern—glorying in the blistering strikes of energy that had the potential power to catalyze and erase everything within the scope of the material realm.
He could feel that woman’s crackling blade part his flesh once again, even as his memories swam with trauma. He recalled every scrape, every broken bone, every sore muscle. Sensation assailed him until pain itself became a distant, pleasant memory, replaced by the mind-shattering reality of compounded suffering that only sheer force of will allowed him to withstand.
Then it settled, as suddenly and jarringly as it had begun.
His shrieking nerves returned to normal, and he lay within the conceptualised cocoon of his rebirth, panting—his hands tracing over skin and body as smooth as a newborn's. Surprise and confusion overtook him as he stilled his beating heart, shifting his attention to the eddies of raw power that surrounded him in disjointed, multi-faceted technicolour—somehow dizzying inasmuch as it was non-existent. Was it a rainbow of impossible palettes, or blackness that could swallow the dark? The sheer paradoxical impossibility of where he was seemed beyond his knowledge—and he shut off his view to avoid going utterly mad.
One last thing remains, Arcturus. Though this is—well... You truly have done something beyond the ken of even the most learned of sorcerers. You have utterly severed your Fate Thread. The Great Tapestry no longer clings to you, no longer weaves you into the patterns of Order’s direction. By reconstituting yourself from True Oblivion itself, you have escaped the immutable twice over. No destiny for you, Arcturus. No Divinity nor Lesser Deity shall ever again pluck at your strings.
At this, Arcturus managed to laugh. His reckless action, dooming him to True Oblivion, had liberated him from the very being he’d sought to escape. He was free.
Quite right, you who are I. You have no strings any longer. Not even Order can foresee the actions you take, nor influence them directly. Congratulations, Arcturus. You have accomplished the impossible. For this, Luck will be offered at a value in flux, both infinite and absent at the same time. Your path will force the Great Tapestry to conform to you. You make your own Luck, Arcturus. May Order shield all Creation, for you shall surely turn it upon its head.
Arcturus shuddered as the neat knot of the ribbon that was his existence was tied. He was, at last, whole. A moment’s cursory analysis with senses that seemed to inherently understand his projected surroundings gave him insight: He was in flux, between reality and where reality ended. A pocket dimension that was removed from the material plane he’d come from. Panic came a moment later, only to be dispelled as he exerted his willpower to suppress it. His Willpower? He could ratify it as a number, he realised. A second later, as if his mind had been waiting for him to do so, he suddenly brought up a ‘sheet’ in his mind’s eye.
Strength 19 | Agility 11 | Intelligence 14 | Vitality 13 | Perception 14 | Arcana 18 | Willpower 21 | Charisma 12 | Luck ??
In that moment, he understood that access to that information was available at any moment he desired it. A functional comprehension filled him with awareness that this was not a simulation, nor some sort of drug-induced trip. He was peering into his very essence, and instead of seeing it as a metaphysical concept, he saw it as a numerical absolute—just like in the MMORPGs he had played with his friends. A grand joke, perhaps? It didn’t matter. He had quantized himself into existence through sheer force of refusal. After that, not even the revelation that he could break his essence down into mathematical values was confusing.
Time to find your friends, right?
That voice. He knew that voice. He’d known it his entire life.
That thrice-accursed, damned, sarcastic voice that had needled him incessantly since infancy, perhaps before that too.
It was the great antagonist of his story, a running monologue of his failures and shortcomings that had mocked and humiliated him within the recesses of his own mind, even as it had clarified his thoughts and given him a deeper understanding of his own perceptions. That subconscious bastard, ever the cruel jester, which had been part of his existence for as long as he could recall.
What about your parents?
They would already be mourning him, and that thought jarred him, snapping away his concentration as if it had never existed.
He thought about his mother’s hugs, his father’s smiles, and the love they had shown him his entire life. What could possibly have been enough to repay them for all they had done? Surely, going to see them should have been his first thought, and yet… no, his parents had raised him better than that. Seeing them might have had immediate satisfaction for both them and him, but it would have been a betrayal of the very morals and ethical guidance he had been reared with.
Besides, his father had instilled duty into him as a core concept since his ability to understand first emerged.
Let’s go.
Arcturus could only agree as he considered his way out, pondering by what manner of action he could plausibly free himself from the pocket reality—until he remembered what Order had said: in The Highest, one’s will was made manifest.
Surely, in such a situation as he was in, that had to be the constant as well.
A grin lit his features in the endless dark-beyond-darkness, and he steadied his breathing to focus. He had to be cautious, to avoid throwing himself into True Oblivion or, worse, failing once again to be specific about what he sought and desired. He had to frame it just right and ensure that he found his friends—no matter if they were on Earth, or within The Highest, or anything beyond it.
He owed them that much.
It was his friends he had to seek, without doubt or question.
Arcturus closed his eyes again and fell into a quick meditation, focusing intently and with purpose as he formulated his thoughts. He pictured the faces of his friends, one by one, until he settled on the image of Amélie—of her smile and her laugh, so knee-weakening in its passion when he’d finally kissed her.
He focused on the warmth of her body, her scent, the sound of her words, and the potency of her unbreakable spirit. He focused on the feeling of her in his arms, and the faint taste of vanilla when he’d kissed her—coupled with the sweetness of her morning cappuccino. He codified the image in his mind, solidified it like a mental sketch-work, and then he framed his intention with caution.
I will go to the most stable, physiologically compatible location nearest to my friends.
The thought crystallized clearly in his mind, and he poured his intention and will into it—then something more. A new source, a new kind of energy that he was aware had always been within him, yet was only now open to his access. Without hesitation and knowing it to be natural, he drew on that font of power, and the moment he did, he felt a spark of immense power flood through him.
His cocoon shattered in the same moment as he seemed to sense as much as feel the pocket of reality around him come apart at the seams. He had but a moment, an infinitesimal span of time between seconds to contemplate what he had done, and then a roar filled his ears.
The roar gave way to a sensory overload of noise, smells, and physical sensations, and then he was falling—falling, and suddenly surrounded by cool wetness.
Arcturus opened his eyes and breathed.
