Die. Respawn. Repeat.

Chapter 176: Book 3: Primordial Foray

Chapter 176: Book 3: Primordial Foray

It's hard to describe exactly what happens when I activate the skill.

Space warps around my fist. That's one part of the effect. Light bends as it approaches a threshold around my gauntlet and creates a distinctly odd visual effect, complete with a flickering halo created by stray escaping beams. I can feel the impact of it too, just by waving my hand around—there's a distinct pulling sensation that accompanies every movement.

But that's not all that happens. More significant is the moment I suddenly find myself holding. Caught in the palm of my hand there's a fragment of... life isn't the right word for it.

It's a fragment of the beginning. A fragment of that primordial soup that began all life. A fragment of a Concept that's strong enough now that I can feel it—it washes away the lingering stench of death, the oppressive aura that the Abstraction had hanging over us.

I step forward, and life steps with me.

There's a sound that's somewhere between a crackle and a whisper. Microscopic spores germinate within seconds, hyphae digging into the metal of the walls; stray seeds grow, their roots tearing through the ground with all the force of time compressed into moments. Flowers bloom into bursts of color. I hear Novi letting out a soft gasp. Guard is silent, but his machinery whirs as he processes everything that's happening.

It's taking everything I have to stay standing. To keep this held.

The Knight within me is working feverishly to gather what Firmament remains in the air and process it; without its help, I think I would have collapsed by now. The body isn't meant to be quite this empty of Firmament—I'm not meant to have access to a skill of this level. Not yet. It demands more than I have.

But more than I have is the only thing that's going to stop an Abstraction, isn't it? I'll examine what all this is later. Threads, Submerged skills, Talents... it's a whole new set of questions, a whole new set of things to understand.

Right now, though, what's in front of me threatens everything I've achieved this loop. So I take another step forward. It feels like trying to drag myself through a thick slurry—everything I am is poured into a singular point in my fist, and I'm holding it steady through nothing more than force of will. If I waver for even a moment, this whole thing shatters.

The Abstraction stands before me. It looks down at me as if confused by my presence. Maybe it's confused by the fact that I'm able to stand in front of it at all. I get the distinct impression that if anyone else were standing in my place, they would be kneeling.

Or dead. Either way, they wouldn't be standing.

This close to the Abstraction, it's easier to tell what it is. I almost laugh—probably would have if it didn't take so much effort just to maintain the skill, let alone move. The answer should have been obvious. It's been staring me in the face this whole time.

This is the Abstraction of Regret. The full manifestation of every ghost that came before it. It makes sense, in a way; First Sky turns into an empty ruin, a city devoid of color and life, with all the efforts made to save it ultimately a failure. What other emotion—what other Concept—would define it at its end?

Regret is aligned with Death, in some ways, at least here: it came about as a result of the city's slow death. It's an insidious thing that eats away at all future possibility if you let it.

And Life, in the same way, is opposed to it. Life created by He-Who-Guards, of all people. Considering what he's told me about his past with Whisper, he's more than familiar with the idea of regret.

He could have chosen to die. He considered it, even. He lived a tortured existence for too long.

But there were too many things he knew he would regret.

It's fitting, in a way. I bring up a hand, staring at the Abstraction. It stares back mournfully. I'm not sure it even understands what's going on or why it's here. It was brought to life to... what, be an obstacle? To be nothing more than an artifact of war?

"You didn't deserve this," I say quietly. Mostly because it feels right. If the Knight is right, and Abstractions are created by tearing a Concept loose from the foundations of reality and giving it life, then I can't imagine it's anything but confused right now. No wonder it didn't rush toward me to fight. It's just... wandering.

That it kills anything it comes across in that wandering is an unfortunate reality of its existence. In better, different circumstances, it might have been able to become something more.

I reach out with my empowered hand. The Abstraction flinches away briefly—it can sense that what I'm holding is fundamentally opposed to it in some way, that it has the potential to do harm.

And then it stops. It stares at me.

The Abstraction's physical appearance is nothing more than the projection of a wound in reality, but in that moment, it looks very much like a manifestation of space. I catch a glimpse of cosmic dust past the bones that make up the skull it wears on its head. I see what looks like the embers of a dying star.

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It was once part of a greater whole. It sees what I have as a path to do so. It's like the Knight said: Abstractions can't stick around forever. Eventually, they fade. The universe repairs itself.

I get the feeling it wants to repair itself a little faster. It reaches out and takes my hand—

The reaction is near instantaneous. The Concept I'm holding abruptly boils over, taking to the Abstraction with a ferocity that surprises the both of us. It shoots through its arm and then tears through its body, multiplying rapidly and filling it with life; I catch a glimpse of evolution, of moving on, of regret that doesn't define a life. I'd be worried about the process being painful, but the Abstraction looks down with an expression that's distinctly...

Wonder. It looks down at itself with wonder.

Just for a moment. Then it cracks like glass, starting from the center and spreading through its body. Its physical form breaks apart, no longer able to sustain itself in the chaos of holding two separate, opposing Concepts.

Just like that, it's gone. The tunnel is empty, and the oppressive air that's been hanging around us vanishes like it was never there; the Knight makes a sound of relief. I feel the bone armor melting back into flesh—the Inspiration is done and will be for a while, I suspect. Apparently I've exhausted it. I didn't even know that was possible.

"Is it over?" Novi asks. Her voice comes out almost like a squeak, and she clears her throat before she speaks again. "Ahem. That was... remarkably well done. I have yet to see dangers quite like this within First Sky. That was most unusual."

"It is over," He-Who-Guards confirms. Then he pauses, frowning, and looks to me for confirmation. "I think. Ethan?"

"Give me a moment," I mumble.

I'm lying flat on my back. I don't even remember lying down. Guard walks over to peer at me, concerned. "You are alright?"

"I'll be fine," I say. I don't try to get up, though.

"You do not look fine," Guard observes.

"Everything hurts," I grunt. "Including things that shouldn't be able to hurt. Like my fingernails, for some reason."

The automaton looks down at me for another moment, then turns to a concerned Novi. "He is fine."

"Hey! Why did it take that to convince you?" I complain. I push myself into a sitting position, although only barely; my arms scream in protest as I do so. It feels like my bones are aching, too, which... I suppose kind of makes sense, considering how the Knight Evolution works. Can't say I like it, though.

"Because," Guard says, amused, "you are usually fine when you are able to complain."

I roll my eyes. "You haven't been traveling with me long enough to know that."

"But I have been observing you."

"Guard," I say. "You know that's kind of creepy, right?"

"I was ordered to do so," he points out.

"...Yeah, okay, fair point." Privacy hasn't been much of an option during the Trials in general, in all honesty. Between the Integrators watching, Ahkelios being directly bonded to me, and Isthanok being a city that's essentially under constant surveillance, I haven't actually had a moment to myself since all this started. I try not to think about that. "Alright, let me see. The mission isn't technically over until we deliver the Seed..."

I trail off, frowning, as I call up the Interface. The final point hasn't changed.

And more worryingly—

[Charge the Seed: 99/100

Bonus:

Defeat the Concept-Bound: 0/1]

"That's not right," I mutter, staring at the window. We did defeat the Abstraction—as far as I can tell, that thing is no longer here. In fact, after being exposed to it so directly, it feels like I have a better sense for these things than ever. There's a sort of scar in the world where the Abstraction used to be, but it's a scar that's rapidly mending. "It says we haven't beaten... well, the Interface is calling it a Concept-Bound. Not sure if that's the same thing."

Guard looks at me for a moment, then turns to Novi. "It may not be over," he informs her. She clutches at his arm, eyes wide.

I force myself to my feet and wince at the wave of pain that comes with it. There's barely any Firmament left within me—basically just enough to keep me standing instead of falling unconscious. The Knight feels like it's fallen asleep, which I can't blame it for, but it would be nice to have some answers.

There's nothing stirring in the distance, as far as I can tell, but there is a slow pit of dread forming in my stomach. Because if the Interface isn't registering that defeat, then two things are likely to be true.

The first is that the Abstraction I just fought wasn't part of the plan. Like I suspected already, more or less; the Trials seem to adhere to some abstract, alien idea of fairness, and throwing something like an Abstraction at me feels far outside of its usual tricks. It's more than willing to support a bending of the rules, but outright breaking them?

Something else is interfering with this Ritual.

The second truth, of course, is that this Ritual stage has a boss, and I haven't fought it yet. That's a problem too, because even if the boss isn't as powerful as the Abstraction, if it's anything like the Seedmother...

I'm trying to recover, but I don't have enough Firmament left. Not for a fight. No matter how fast I work, even if it takes a full hour for whatever this Concept-Bound is to show up—and it won't—I won't have recovered enough to fight. Maybe to support, if Guard takes the lead, but fight?

A roar sounds from deep within the tunnel. I tense immediately and turn my attention to it, expanding my senses, trying to learn more about what's to come; instead, I notice something else.

Ahkelios's bond with me, weakened by distance, is slowly getting stronger again. He's on his way back. There's a trickle of relief—even with his help, it might not be enough, but there's at least more of a chance—

I pause, then frown.

Something about Ahkelios feels different.