Chapter 708 - Small

The last time Zeke had used [Primordial Wrath], it had presented similarly to its predecessor, meaning that it conjured a massive black orb that, upon implosion, destroyed everything for hundreds of miles.  That, in turn, had started a chain reaction that destroyed Mak’tar’s domain.

In this instance, it was much more powerful, largely because Zeke managed to shove even more divine energy into the skill.  The orb, which resembled a black sun, was more than a hundred miles in diameter, and it contained incalculable energy.  So, when it imploded, sucking everything into an event horizon, it sent a deep crack arcing through the planet. 

More importantly, Simeon had no chance to escape.

He tried, and for a moment, he managed to outpace the implosion.  But his fate was sealed the second Zeke used [Primordial Wrath].  He disappeared into the black orb only an instant before the effect reversed, becoming an explosion that rivaled a supernova for its expression of energy.

Zeke was thrown into the void, where he tumbled for uncountable minutes.  He barely even understood what was happening all around him.  His senses were useless, and his mind whirled with a million disjointed impressions.  It was as if he’d been thrown into a vat of pure energy for which he had no means to perceive. 

Slowly – over what felt like an eternity – he began to feel. 

The first sensation was pain, which wracked his body from every direction.  Periodically, he felt spikes of agony that far exceeded the normal amount of pain, and it took him a few moments to understand what was happening.

He was being attacked.

On instinct, he’d long since embraced [Hand of Creation], which was the only reason he’d managed to survive.  Otherwise, he would have died.  No – that wasn’t quite right.  He would have ceased to exist.  He would have been scrubbed from reality as if he’d never been born.

But with [Hand of Creation] keeping him from succumbing, Zeke had the opportunity to adjust.  He had no idea how long he endured.  In fact, he wasn’t even certain that time existed in the void.  What he did know was that the space – if that term even applied – was not what he’d expected.

The first thing he perceived – or at least, the first facet for which he had a label – was strings.  Trillions of them in every passing inch, stretching in every direction and across all dimensions.  Each one was a strand of information comprised of pure energy, and Zeke knew that he’d be at it for millions of years if he expected to comprehend even a fraction of what he saw sensed all around him.

After that, he felt the authors of his pain.  They were made of those same threads, though they were packed more densely into even larger threads. 

Strings on strings that made more strings. 

The entire thing made Zeke’s head hurt.  He could discern some patterns, but only until he saw a little deeper and realized that his understanding of those patterns was fundamentally flawed.  Then, he went back to the beginning and saw things through a different lens.

Of course, after some time, he began to question the very notion that he had a body at all.  Because, from his perception, he was made of strings too.  Even his thoughts were just slightly thinner threads.  It was maddening.

But it was also freeing in a way he could scarcely discern.

It took an incredibly amount of time before he was able to wrap his mind around even the smallest fraction, and when he did, his first reaction was to fight back.  That did not go well, because the second he tried to activate any skill but [Hand of Creation], he only attracted more strings.  In turn, that increased the pace of attacks, and he very nearly succumbed to the pain.

Only after he forced himself not to respond did he know any degree of peace.  Even then, his entire being was wracked by directionless pain.  And after what felt like eons, he started to understand why.  The simple fact was that he did not belong.  His very being was anathema to his surroundings. 

The problem – one among many – was that he had no idea how to change his situation.  Not without first understanding the threads. 

And try as he might, he couldn’t do that. 

So, he floated in place, keeping himself alive with [Hand of Creation] until, at last, another presence intruded.  It was made of strings, just like all the rest, but Zeke knew it was different.  The threads were so densely packed that they were nearly imperceptible, and what’s more, they glowed with a degree of power he could scarcely understand.  Just focusing on it was enough to drive him slightly mad.

It approached slowly.

Cautiously. 

Time and distance meant nothing, but Zeke felt the unassailable impression that it was closing in on him.  And when it reached him, it wouldn’t be like the smaller tendrils.  It would scour him from existence. 

He knew that down to the core of his being.

Panic suffused his heart as the collection of energy strings gradually closed the gap.  It loomed over him like a giant looking down on an insect, and for the first time in a long, long time, Zeke felt small.  Insignificant.  He was nothing compared to this thing. 

And then, suddenly, something yanked on him.  He resisted for the briefest of seconds until he realized that whatever was pulling on him meant to bear him away from the horrifying thing. 

He let it.

The world of strings blurred, and Zeke felt more pain than he’d ever experienced.  It was like his body and soul – past and present – burned away with every passing instant.  And yet, he persisted until, at last, it stopped.

Or rather, it changed.  The pain became more real, and the memory of what he’d endured gripped his mind in a way that would not allow respite or solace.  He felt every moment of it. 

It felt like eons of trauma shredding his mind, all at once. 

Zeke had no idea how long he remained in place, but at some point, he realized that he was no longer in that world of strings.  Instead, he was lying on a floor in some unfamiliar place.  Even then, he couldn’t force himself to move.  Not for a long, long time.

Then, suddenly, he heard a voice, and he realized that it had been present for some time.  Days?  Years?  Centuries?  He had no context, and in his muddled state, he was in no position to figure it out.

Slowly, that voice resolved into words.  And those words latched onto his mind, begetting meaning. 

“You understand me now, do you not?” the soothing voice asked.

With some difficulty, Zeke managed to turn his head.  It was like trying to lift a mountain.  Not because of the weight, but rather because he scarcely remembered how to make himself move. 

He opened his mouth, but no words came out.  Instead, it was just an inarticulate croak. 

“Be still, young primordial.  Do not push too far too fast.”

Zeke wasn’t willing to take that advice, and he leveraged the entirety of his mind toward the simple task of speaking. And after a while, he managed to grunt, “What.  Happened.”

“You visited the void,” came the answer.  “A space between realities.  It is simultaneously what protects us from annihilation and the mechanism by which our reality maintains its structure.  I believe you know it as the Framework.”

Framework.

That didn’t make sense.  That was simply the system by which people progressed. 

“What…were…those…things?” he managed.  “The strings…”

“The foundations of reality given form,” the voice stated. “The…strings, as you call them, impose our reality on denizens from without.  Those tentacles – they are forced into that form by the Framework that protects us.  It saps their power and stymies their progress.  Without the Framework, they would have long since consumed our dimension.”

“Where…do…they…come from?” Zeke managed, his muscles twitching with the effort of remembering how to move. 

“Outside.  That’s all we know.  No one – not even the Creator – can survive their dimension.  They seek to consume all,” the voice answered.  Zeke felt a hand on his shoulder.  It was cold, he realized.  “Rest.  You must recover.  This reality needs you.”

With that, Zeke felt unconsciousness envelop his mind.  He let it, only waking some time later to find that he could move.  Memories of his experience in the Circle of Fraud returned to the forefront of his mind as he struggled to sit up.  He felt like an invalid, though his body wasn’t confined by weakness.  Instead, it was as if he had to remember how to move. 

He managed it, though.  Through sheer force of will, he forced himself upright.  His eyes flicked around, taking in his surroundings.

He found himself in a white room not unlike the one where he’d first awoken before his initial rebirth.  The walls were featureless, and he felt entirely cut off from the rest of the world. 

He was not alone, though.

A humanoid figure stood nearby, though the fact that it featured two arms, two legs, a torso, and a head was where the familiarity ended.  Its body was shiny – like black enameled metal – and its face was entirely featureless. 

“You are awake.”

It was the same voice Zeke had heard before losing unconsciousness. 

“Where am I?” he croaked.  “Are my…people okay?”

“They survived,” the featureless creature replied.  “Most, at least.  The ship and its vessels were protected by the captain’s skills.  Two of the landing vessels were destroyed by your skill, but the rest survived.  Lucky.  Few have skills to aid in surviving the void.”

“Iris.”

The name came to mind when the thing mentioned the ships.  After that, memories returned in a flood, and in moments, Zeke remembered everything.  In most cases, that was a good thing.  However, in the case of his time in the void, it was very much something he wished he could forget.

“Who are you?” he asked in an effort to distract himself from those memories.

“I believe you know the answer to that question.”

“The Waymaster.”

“Indeed.  One of my vessels,” it said, gesturing to the black body.  “I sensed your presence in the void, and I went to fetch you.  It was a close thing.  The enemy was nearly upon you.”

“The enemy.”

“Ironically, I do not know if it even considers things in that way.  It is a mindless creature of consumption.  It destroys realities, using them for fuel.  What you felt was merely a fraction of its incomprehensible form.”

“That is what the Creator keeps at bay?”

The thing nodded its metallic head.  “Indeed.  It is more complicated than that, of course.  The Framework frustrates it, trapping it so that only its minions can attack.  Even then, the only reason we still exist is because they are forced into a bottleneck.  Otherwise, none of this would exist.”

“How does it all work?  What is the Framework?  Those strings…I felt a pattern, but it was like it was just out of reach,” Zeke babbled.  It was like the half-remembered details of a dream.  Without the full picture, none of it made sense, even if he was certain that he was only a piece or two away from putting the puzzle together. 

“You perceived the strings?  You are special.  Most people…they cannot even sense that much.”

“There was a pattern, too.”

“Was there?  Intriguing.”

“How…how long was I in there?” Zeke asked. 

“A few days.”

“What?  It felt like an eternity.”

“That is how it works.  Time is a subjective thing.  You’ll learn that as you continue to grow in power.  In the meantime, I suggest you check your status.  Killing a greater god of Simeon’s experience is likely to add fuel to the fire of your existence.”

It took Zeke a few seconds to wrap his mind around what the Waymaster had just said, but when he did, he realized that he did feel stronger.  His body didn’t want to work, but the strength was there all the same.  So, he opened his status.  When he did, he was more than a little surprised at what he saw.