Chapter 738 - The Price to be Paid

Zeke could have simply willed himself to another location, but, for two reasons, he chose to ride with Pudge.  The first was that he wasn’t entirely certain where they were going, but the second came from a desire for connection.  However, his attempts to rectify that were met with stony silence. 

Pudge still loved him like the brother he was, but he’d clearly moved on.  There was no gleeful reunion.  No laughter.  No embrace.  Just a stoic acceptance of his duty. 

It made for a somber voyage.

Zeke scarcely noticed the passing landmarks.  Space was an empty place, but it was still full of awe-inspiring sights.  And via his nature as a sort of proto-god, Zeke could see it all in perfect clarity.  A less detached man might have spent the entire trip with his eyes wide in wonder. 

But Zeke just stared at nothing, trying to wrap his mind around his friend’s death.  Tucker had been with him almost since the beginning, but he’d also established himself as a stoic figure who could more than handle himself.  The idea that he’d died was almost too ridiculous to consider.  Surely, the man had a potion that could cure any ailment – even death. 

“How did he die?” Zeke finally asked Pudge.

The bearkin glanced at him, radiating with power as he answered, “Surrounded by his family.”

“But how?”

“Age.”

“But –”

“People die, Zeke.  That’s how it works.  Even someone like Tucker.  Or me.  Or Talia.  We can all succumb,” he growled, his anger showing through as he wheeled on Zeke.  “None of us are immortal, in case you forgot.  We will all die. Some of us more alone than others.”

Zeke frowned.

Given his recent transformation into something that far exceeded godhood, it was easy to look at time as a somewhat ephemeral concept.  When he was stranded in the middle of space and practicing with the threads, to the passage of thousands of years was all but meaningless. 

But now, he was confronted by the reality that contradicted that assessment.  For all that it felt meaningless for him, everyone else felt its bite, and keenly.  He’d labored under the impression that he’d always have time to spend with his friends.  That was obviously not the case.

Tucker was gone.

One day soon, everyone else would follow suit.  Perhaps Pudge and Talia, as freshly ascended greater gods, would live for thousands more years.  Maybe tens of thousands.  But they too would one day perish.

Oberon’s condition had proven that even greater gods weren’t immune to the ravages of time. 

At least Pudge hadn’t abandoned him, though.  He was far too noble to go down that road, even if he probably should have.  Zeke was well aware that he’d been a bad brother and even worse friend.  He’d neglected every relationship for thousands of years, and all to fight a battle that only he could see coming. 

Sure, Shar Maelaine might know about some distant threat posed by the enemy.  But she’d made no effort to prepare for it.  As far as Zeke knew, she was only focused on gaining power for its own sake.  Or maybe because she was addicted to it.  Either way, she had followed a very different path to the one Zeke walked.

The voyage took more than a month, and that was just to reach the entrance to the Ways.  Entering came with distinct discomfort.  Zeke could see the dense threads that composed the place, and he could feel the enemy just on the other side of its barriers.  Always probing. Always seeking to enter and devour.  Only the Waymaster kept them at bay. 

It did pose a serious question, though.  How much did the Waymaster know?  He’d put himself distinctly below the Creator, but Zeke had begun to wonder just how accurate that self-assessment really was.  And what’s more, if the Waymaster possessed that kind of power, why hadn’t he contributed to the fight against the adversary. 

Or maybe he was, just in a way that Zeke didn’t understand.

Whatever the case, Zeke only had a week to ponder that because they soon reached their destination, which was a portal to Pudge’s domain. 

“Was this already here?” Zeke asked, approaching the gate, which was guarded by a pair of the Waymaster’s drones.  Like the Ways themselves, those two figures’ threads were so densely packed that, even to Zeke, they appeared almost solid.  But they lacked the soul thread, confirming that they were no better than machines. 

As such, they would be easy to unravel, especially for someone like Zeke, who specialized in destruction.

Pudge shook his head, curtly answering, “It showed up after I ascended to greater godhood.  Come.  People are expecting us.”

Zeke followed Pudge through the portal and into paradise.  He’d seen many beautiful sights over the course of his long life, but few could compare to the idyllic wilderness into which he’d been led.  The trees seemed taller, and the forest floor was devoid of the tangled flora of a truly wild place.  Zeke saw fluffy bunnies, fluttering butterflies, and singing bluebirds. 

Yet, beneath it all were simple threads.

“What is it?” Pudge asked.

Zeke shook his head.  “Nothing.”

It was a lie.  The reality was that it was so difficult to see the beauty on the surface while ignoring the mundanity of the strings that comprised all of reality.  He couldn’t appreciate the gentle wind.  He couldn’t walk through the forest and listen to birdsong.  He couldn’t see past the fact that none of it was real.

Not from his perspective.

Instead, it was all just a projection.  Not so unlike Plato and his cave, where people only truly experienced reality through shadowy representations.  But instead of climbing free and seeing the real world, Zeke only saw the ugly tangle of strings. 

Even his brother was like that, much to Zeke’s dismay.  The only thing that kept Zeke from going truly mad with that knowledge was that at least the people he loved possessed souls.  Otherwise, he might have completely detached from everything. 

Gradually, they passed through the forest, finally reaching a thriving city.  From an architectural standpoint, it appeared quite primitive, though Zeke could easily see the care and mana that had been incorporated into the construction.  The main feature at the center was a tree stump that was nearly a mile wide and almost twice as tall.  The entire thing had been hollowed out, with a series of elevators and steps leading to hundreds of entrances and exits. 

Nearly every resident was a beastkin.

Zeke saw men and women of various origins.  Some resembled big cats or wolves, while many others traced their lineage back to herd animals like cows and zebras.  As they approached, Zeke realized that a great many were lesser gods. 

“These are your people?”

Pudge nodded as they entered the city.  “They follow me,” he acknowledged.

The response to their arrival was interesting.  There was no overt worship, but it was obvious that these beastkin looked at Pudge with great respect bordering on deification.  That was appropriate, given that they were his worshippers.  Without them, he never could have achieved greater godhood.

Of course, the same could be said about the previous greater gods’ demise.  If Zeke hadn’t killed them, then there wouldn’t have been room for his friends to rise and take their places.

There wasn’t a hard-and-fast limit on greater gods, but there was no way that people like Aja or Oda would have tolerated newcomers.  Not without them bending the knee to their betters, at least.

As Pudge escorted Zeke through the city, he witnessed the mundanity of normal life.  Some people just went about their business the same way they would have in any of the lower realms.  They worked normal jobs.  They did normal things.  They raised families and lived their lives to the fullest. 

Did it matter that they might survive for a few hundred extra years?

Not to them, it seemed.

The city itself proved to be a marvel.  The décor was primitive – almost tribal – but there was a nobility to it that Zeke couldn’t deny.  It reminded him a bit of Native American culture, but with unfamiliar iconography.  The themes were similar, though, he was certain. 

They wound their way through the streets, and not once did Zeke wish he’d chosen a faster route.  He found the entire place fascinating, and in a way he wouldn’t have before his long isolation.  But for thousands of years, he’d seen nothing but threads.  Now, he let himself witness everything else.

Certainly, there was a chance that it might be an illusion, but it was a pleasant one.  That made all the difference, he found.

Eventually, they reached the giant stump at the center of the city.  Up close, it seemed even larger than it had from afar, and it was packed with so many people that Zeke lost track.  Instead, he just followed Pudge as they wound their way around the exterior, following a long ramp marked with torches attached to wicked carvings that resembled totem poles. 

Round and round they went until, at last, they reached the top.

That’s when Zeke saw the Mercury.  It stood upon a series of stands, its mana completely drained.  Atop its deck was a lattice of dark wood, upon which rested a single body.

Tucker.

Zeke stepped forward.  Pudge tried to grab his upper arm, but even if he’d managed it, he couldn’t have stopped Zeke.  He rose into the air, dragging himself along by the ambient strings until he was even with Tucker’s body.

He looked so small.

He’d clearly not been well in the years leading up to his death.  His once robust body had wasted away to nearly half its former size.  His beard was stark white, and his hair was almost entirely gone.  Only a few sad wisps remained.

Zeke’s attention remained entirely on the man’s eyes, though.  They remained open, staring up at the sky.  But there was nothing else in there.  No light or life.  Just an empty husk. 

Suddenly, Zeke remembered all the years he’d spent with Tucker.  Next to the thousands of years he’d spent alone, it seemed inconsequential.  Meaningless.  Pitiful. 

But Zeke knew it meant far more than that short duration suggested.  For all that those thousands of years alone had shaped his worldview, they paled in comparison to his other experiences. 

What was the difference?

People.

Zeke knew it before he’d even asked himself that question.  For all that the world seemed like an illusion meant to mask the true nature of reality, it was the people who gave it meaning.  It didn’t matter who they were.  Nor was it important how much power they wielded.  They were still important.

At some point, Zeke had lost sight of that.  He’d ordered the deaths of millions. Killed many, many times that many himself.  And yet, not until his friend’s corpse lay before him did he truly grasp the magnitude of his actions. 

He was a monster of the worst sort.

Before he knew what he was doing, he found himself falling to his knees.  He remained suspended in mid-air, but his head rested against his friend’s body.  He wept, unabashedly and without restraint, as he considered the fact that he would never see Tucker again.

Not just his husk.  But the man within. 

He’d never hear that laugh. Never again hear those wise words of advice.  He was gone, never to return.

A part of Zeke delved into the treads, looking for that glowing string that represented a man’s soul.  It was gone.  There was a tiny string, as thin as gossamer, stretching off into another dimension, and Zeke knew he only needed to pull on it to bring Tucker back.

He considered it.

He wrapped his will around it and prepared to heave.

But he stopped.

The second he touched that thread, he knew that his current course of action was an immense mistake.  Nothing good could come of messing with that sort of thing.  The dead should remain dead.  That was a fact that even Zeke couldn’t dispute.

So, he released it. 

Then, at last, he turned to see that thousands of people had gathered at the base of the ship.  Pointedly, Iris wasn’t among them.  None of the crew he’d hoped to recognize were there. 

And instinctively, Zeke knew the reason.  They too had died, some long ago.  Tucker was the last. 

He straightened to his full height, then, with tears still flowing, said, “My friend is dead…”