August Intruder- Chapter 201- Of The Beginning

There were too many rumors about the [Envoy of God] with too little confirmations. There were rumors that he was the son of the first [Namer]. There were rumors that he was an Endless who had descended from their higher plane to walk amongst mortals and immortals.

One of the nicer rumors was that he was actually the son of God. Created by the one supreme being that even the Endless could not comprehend.

Interestingly enough, the only proof in Existence that there was an actual ‘God’ was him. Existence, after all, referred to him as the [Envoy of God] with a capital G.

But there were speculations to the honesty of it, after all, there were also rumors that he had in fact, by himself, killed an Endless.

With all these hovering in Veebee’s head, it knew nothing of what it was supposed to do in this moment.

Was there even anything that it could do?

How did an ant fight a man who had allegedly killed the next best thing to God? How did one survive him.

The [Envoy of God] stood there for a moment, not truly interested in what was happening. Around him, the entire world between worlds had gone still. The forms no longer moved or tried. The failures fell silent, solidifying into stillness like carved statues.

Existence trembled into stillness and Veebee felt as if whatever part of its nature aloud it to stay alive wanted it to remain so.

The [Envoy of God] looked to the left, then the right. Then he looked down.

His focus settled on Veebee. “Child of the first [Namer].”

Veebee tried to talk, but no words came out. The man was not doing anything to it. There was no pressure or grounding weight to his presence. He was not affecting the world around him.

The silence that choked Veebee was from nothing but fear. It did not want to die.

“Not child,” the man corrected. “Creature of the first [Namer] would be more apt.”

He fell silent for a moment. Then his gaze moved from Veebee to Melmarc. That was the last thing Veebee needed. To draw the attention of the man, as rumors had it, was never a good sign.

The stories told that he had been responsible for the creation of the Observers, the true Observers, who had ruled Existence, so many years ago that those records existed outside of the annals of time. The same stories claimed that he was recreating them, reclaiming fragments of their souls from wherever they were.

The man cocked his head to the side, eyes angling in what looked like curiosity. This was certainly the worst case. The man was a gamble. There was as much a chance of good things happening to those that caught his attention as there was bad things happening.

He did what he did not for the sake of good or evil but because he could.

So, to protect Melmarc, Veebee had no other choice but to risk its life. It channeled every ounce of will into itself and moved.

Veebee bowed deeply, head to Melmarc’s chest.

<<Oh great one,>> it hailed.

There was no harm in ass-licking if you lived to see another day. Existential beings like it could not be killed in the space between worlds, but you never knew with this envoy.

The man looked at him. “Great one is an interesting title that does not belong to me.”

He looked around, as if noticing for the first time that nothing else was moving. It was a while before he returned his attention to Veebee.

“Do you have some attachment to this child?” he asked.

Veebee nodded even with his head down. <<Yes, great one.>>

“Then tell me, why is his mana so pure?”

Veebee paused. The [Envoy of God] was supposed to be all-knowing. Perhaps this was a test, to see if it would tell the truth or lie.

<<I am not sure,>> it answered. <<But he is an [August Intruder] of a world.>>

Certainly the envoy understood the importance of [August Intruder]s. For the sake of Existence, one did not simply go around killing them or toying with them.

Then again, this was the same man that had wiped the Observers out of existence simply because they had gone drunk with their power. They had seen themselves as rulers and controllers instead of the observers that they were. So, he had cleaved them from Existence.

If Veebee had the necessary body functions, it would’ve swallowed in worry.

“I see.” The man looked down at Melmarc’s stomach, just above his navel. “He is not from a world with a mana core. That is good.” His eyes moved to Veebee where it sat on Melmarc’s chest. “He does not have a mana heart. His lungs do not harness mana.”

He took a step closer and Veebee almost folded in on itself.

The [Envoy of God], squatted beside Melmarc. The mist that filled this world parted for him so that he knelt upon the darkness of solid Existence.

“He is dying.” He looked at Veebee. “What happened?”

Veebee took a second to collect its words. <<He was summoned by Existence to close a dying world.>>

“Existence is still doing that?” He sounded genuinely surprised. “Why?”

Veebee’s response sent it into disbelief. It shrugged. It fucking shrugged.

It’s life potentially hung in the balance and it was shrugging.

It had doomed itself.

“That is true,” the man said, tone empty. “Your kind do not know or want anything outside of what he has declared of you.”

For some reason, he seemed to be in a good mood. It gave Veebee hope. Perhaps he would hold benevolence in his hand and help Melmarc. He was not evil, after all, only necessary. He walked around the world putting things in order. Righting wrongs and wronging rights.

He was a force of Existence.

“Ah,” the man said. “He doesn’t seem to be able to assimilate this time. A shame.”

Veebee’s hope sank.

The envoy rose to his feet and began leaving.

Veebee wasn’t sure if sadness should fall upon it or not. On the one hand, he had done nothing. On the other hand, he had also done nothing.

The man was only three steps away when something chimed from Melmarc’s pants. Veebee’s head turned, confused and shocked. Nothing but life worked here.

The envoy’s head turned. He looked at Melmarc. For a moment, Veebee thought it saw interest in his eyes, but it could not be sure.

The man’s focus remained there, watching the boy, ignoring the blood that pooled from his cuts and his shoulders. He looked curious now. What Veebee had seen in his eyes was growing stronger.

The man walked back, eyes still on Melmarc, steps precise. There was something about it. He walked as if he owned everything. His steps were not practiced, they were not regal. They were not placed perfectly. No. It was something greatly different.

It was as if everywhere he stepped was where he was meant to step. It was as if Existence adjusted itself so that it perfected his steps for fear of making a mistake.

Coming to step beside the boy, he spoke. “Void-beast designation 12849.”

<<Yes, sir.>>

“Jabari,” the man corrected. “I am named Jabari.”

<<Yes, sir, Jabari, sir.>> Veebee could feel itself shaking. He hoped Jabari could not.

“Or do you… No, you do.” Jabari looked at Melmarc. “You prefer it, so I shall call you by it. Names are important. Veebee.”

A warmth flowed through Veebee, as if its name was not just being called but being acknowledged. <<Yes, sir.>>

“It seems we have a budding [Namer] here. And one so young. Perhaps there might be something here.” Jabari nodded once. “I will speak with the boy before he dies.”

<<Yes—>>

The world froze. Everything ceased to exist. Veebee ceased to exist.

…

Dorthna paused in watching Ninra hold onto her friend and a frown marred his face as everything ceased to exist.

He turned his head to the heavens. It had been eons since this had happened.

“What is that fool doing this time?”

…

When Melmarc woke up, it was with pain buried deep within his soul, eating away at his heart and mind. It was like walking around with two broken legs and a crutch with spikes.

His hand moved to his chest. There was silence. His heart was not beating. There was no feeling it. There was no hearing it. He would’ve been worried if he did not remember his last moments, winning, being thirsty, lying down…

Dying.

His skin beat like a heart. His muscles tightening, spasming. He clutched at his chest where his heart remained silent, fighting back the pain.

“Interesting,” a voice said. It was a deep baritone, but there was no warmth to it. It carried the love of a father who only worked and offered money as a sign of affection. A father who was always absent, not because he did not love you but because he did not care.

Melmarc tried to look at the owner of the voice only to realize that he had closed his eyes in pain.

“Take your time,” the voice said. “You are not one of mine, so I am willing to be patient. But not for too long.”

There was something about the voice, something at ease. The voice of the powerful. But there was something different about it, something off. He wore it a little too comfortably.

Ah, that was it. It was the voice of the powerful that did not care that they were powerful. A human being was a human being, no matter how powerful being a human being was, people did not feel special around other people for being a human being.

He was powerful because he was powerful, and that was it. The owner of the voice did not feel special for it.

Melmarc tried to force his eyes open, only for the pain to come flooding back. Realization dawned on him. Focusing on what was off about the voice had distracted him from the pain for a moment. But now the pain was back.

Why?

Could he focus on figuring more about the voice? Would that help?

Hoping against hope, he tried. Unfortunately, he found that he had discovered all there was to the voice that he could discover.

What about Balusad? Thinking about Balusad could make a difference. He was the Oath of Desolation, but he seemed weaker than he had expected, even if he had thrown his ass around and wiped the ground with him.

 I still won, though.

“That’s good,” the voice said, sliding into the thoughts without breaking them. “You seem to learn fast. Keep at it.”

What was that about?

But his mind was still focused on something else. Balusad. What had been the black thing that he had fought Melmarc with? And why had it been bleeding when he’d attacked the handle? There were too many questions, including why he had only fought with one obvious skill?

Had he been sealed somehow; rendered weak?

And what had the attack been? Why had it hurt so much, as if tearing more parts of him than what had been attacked?

The thought reminded Melmarc of the final attack. It had ruined his shoulder. Curious, he checked on it. His hand moved there and touched it. He felt nothing. Confused, he opened his eyes and looked at it.

The gash was there, ruined skin hanging loose. There was also white. So much white. Melmarc was surrounded by white. Not a white room or a white environment. Just white.

“There you go.”

Melmarc’s eyes moved to the owner of the voice and found a priest. He was a man with dark skin, standing tall in a cassock. He had eerie grey eyes and short beards.

“You have not mastered your aspect of pain,” the man said. “Unsurprising, considering your age. And judging by how chaotic your mind was, I would say you have a stronger affinity for madness. You should learn to bond with it. Perhaps you have a relative gone mad.”

“Who are you?” Melmarc blurted out before he could stop himself. “Where am I?”

“I am named Jabari.” It was a simple answer. “You are in a somewhere within yet outside of where. I took the liberty of tidying up your mind. It was not afraid of me and tried to attack. I did not want to kill you before you died.”

Melmarc blinked.

Oh, yes, it was true. He was dying. How had he already forgotten.

“I have a question,” he said, pushing past his nearing death.

Jabari nodded. “As we all do.”

“Are you a priest?”

“No.”

There was no confusion at being asked such a seemingly insignificant question in such a dire moment, Melmarc noticed.

“You have more,” Jabari said. “Go through them quickly. You are not long for this world.”

“If you are not a priest, what are you?”

“A servant. A slave. A husk. A shell. Property. A vessel. A necessary evil. An equalizer. Void.” The man shrugged. “I am many things and nothing. I believe I am worshipped in some places.”

Melmarc could not help but notice how the man was yet to be dissonant. “Are you a god?”

“No.”

“Are you—”

“I do not mean to interrupt, but you are dying child. And I am not here to answer your questions. I am here for answers to mine.”

“One more,” Melmarc negotiated. It helped with the pain.

“Talking to me does not help with your pain,” the man said, as if reading his mind. He probably was. “Your pain is still there, you are learning, as is the way of madness, to focus on the unimportant to make the important unimportant. Now ask your question.”

Melmarc swallowed, fully aware of his situation. He was a dying boy in the presence of a seemingly very powerful being. And he had heard of stories about powerful beings from Uncle Dorthna.

“Will you help me?” he asked.

“No.” Jabari folded his arms. “My turn.” He fixed Melmarc with eyes devoid of emotions. “It is a simple question.”

Melmarc blinked. For some reason he did not believe it. Yet, for some reason, there was no dissonance in it.

“Ask away.”

“How do you know [??????].”

Melmarc’s body stiffened and he dropped to his knees. He had no idea what had happened. There was no pain or weakness, nothing enough to force him to his knees.

He paused, blinked up at a patient Jabari in confusion, and asked, “What?”

“I see,” Jabari mused. “I will ask again. Prepare yourself.”

Melmarc nodded, fully aware of his lack of control over his body. He wouldn’t be able to get up if someone put a gun to Ninra’s head and asked him to.

“Ready?” Jabari asked.

“Ready.”

The next words out of Jabari’s mouth were spoken slowly, gently, with enough care to woo the devil.

“How, child, do you know Dorthna of the Beginning?”