villa1ny

Ch. 142 – Creation of the Universe Museum

Added 2023-05-10 20:59:00 +0000 UTC

Some problems require straightforward solutions.

This was not one of them.

Either that, or a mix of sleep deprivation, several grave, untreated wounds, and Momo’s recent transformation into some kind of malevolent hell goblin convinced her that the only reasonable way out of this was not to retrieve the last remaining shard of Oblivion – but to become it.

In retrospect, she has absolutely no clue how she reached that conclusion.

“[Possess]” she whispered, and pointed straight at Akram’s earring.

The shrinking sensation was to be expected – the feeling of an unbearable squeezing was not. Her soul was folded like origami, creased fifty-two times until she was nothing but a dust speck, a crumble of ragged paper. It was then yanked from her body, catapulted in a parabolic line, and swiftly absorbed by the piece of jewelry.

Yep, that takes the cake, Momo thought. That was worse than becoming a tree.

Akram didn’t even flinch. The two cousins were too entrenched in their blood feud to notice.

“Are you ready to feel the full force of Nerida’s might, cousin?” he growled.

“Are you ready to stop sounding like a jackass, jackass?” Sumire said, mocking him.

How do I steer this thing? Momo thought from her perch on his earlobe. She had no hands, no feet – only a round, circular center. She felt the earring’s post extruding from her back, kept in place by a small, rounded clasp. A simple stud design, nothing fancy.

In that case, there was only one thing to do. She wiggled her body experimentally.

And – voilà – there was some motion. A fraction of a fraction of a centimeter, but she felt the clasp loosen slightly, and the orb shifted forward. That was something. All she’d have to do is keep wiggling until the backing let go completely, and then…

Akram swung at Sumire, and Momo screamed – well, internally. The motion was swift by normal standards, but at Momo’s size, it felt like a jet engine bursting to life. She saw a blur of metal and skin, Sumire dodging by an inch.

“Watch it,” Sumire said. “I’m not going to go easy on you.”

“You never have.”

Akram sprung into action again, sweeping forward with his sword. Sumire’s scimitar rammed against it, a metallic clang resounding in the air. The sound repeated again and again, increasing in volume and frequency. Clang, clang, clang, like a drum at a rock concert.

I’m going to be sick, Momo thought desperately, motion sickness already spurting in her nonexistent stomach. Could they have picked a worse time to settle the family feud?

The clanging continued until someone finally drew blood. Momo wasn’t sure who – she only knew it happened because Nura shrieked, and Momo was greeted with a face full of red splatter. It obscured her vision, somehow, despite not having anything resembling a cornea.

“That all you got?” Akram grunted, staggering in his step. His hand flew to his shoulder. “C’mon, Sumire. Holy Knight academy should have taught you some more advanced dirty tricks than a little shoulder scuffing.”

“I’m just testing the waters,” she laughed. “Waiting for you to throw the white flag up.”

Okay, time’s up. Momo swallowed down her nausea. I have to do this before they kill each other.

Akram roared, striking forward again. Momo took advantage of the momentum, swinging back and forth from Akram’s earlobe like a spherical acrobat. It worked – she felt the weight balance change, the earring moving farther from his ear. So close.

Sumire parried. She made it look easy, grinning as she turned his maneuver back on him.

“Do you remember what our fencing tally was, Akky?” she sneered. “Something like a hundred to zero? Because I don’t remember losing a single match.”

“Liar. I beat your ass off the plank plenty of times.”

“Not when you played fair.”

“Like you ever played fair.”

Sumire laughed.

“Touché. Now, catch.”

She threw her full body weight forward, sword pointed straight, forcing Akram back like a battering ram. He parried, but the sheer amount of force had him stumbling backwards. When he finally caught himself, an equal and opposite force was applied to Momo, propelling her in the opposite direction – and flinging her off his ear like a slingshot.

She was only allowed a single moment of celebration before the dread kicked in.

She hadn’t completely thought this through. Suddenly, she was skydiving.

Eeek!!!

She had nosedived plenty as a bird, but a wingless death drop was entirely different from a winged one. It felt like she was riding one of those amusement park rides she devoutly avoided – the kinds called Stomach Flipper or Drop Tower Extreme Zero Gravity If You Die We’re Not At Fault. All the blood went to her spherical head, her consciousness flitting in and out of lucidity.

Crack. Pain radiated up her body as she collided with the pavement. She bounced upwards, a fissure running up her middle, before landing again, and again, and again. Gravity was dribbling her like a basketball, tossing her around like a plastic marble in a playground game of jacks.

How does this hurt so much? Momo thought, her head pulsing. I shouldn’t have any nerve endings. I’m literally a rock.

She let gravity carry her as far as it could. She rolled to a stop far away from the dueling pirates, resting in a patch of gravel and dirt. To her relief, they hadn’t seemed to notice the disappearance of Akram’s earring, too busy pummeling each other to an early death.

“[Demorph],” she whispered, and the keyword seemed to do the trick. Her body shot out of the marble like a missile, landing a few feet away in the dirt. Nura was the only one to notice, giving her a pleading, and confused, look.

“You have to do something,” she begged. “They’re going to cut each other's heads off.”

Momo briefly ignored her, searching her pockets for the remaining parts of the stone. Gratefully, they were there. She pulled them out, holding them in her gloved hands, before plucking the final one off of the ground. The three disjointed pieces sat in her palm, looking as unassuming as a rock you’d find on the blacktop.

“Don’t worry,” she said to Nura. “I’m pretty sure this will turn their heads.”

She sat cross-legged in the grass and placed the shards together in front of her. A subtle whine emanated from their cores, as if they were physically yearning to be sewn back together. Momo could sense the potential energy – a slight fizzling around the edges. Black, abyssal energy playing at the jagged corners.

This is it, she thought, her throat bobbing with dread. I get one try.

She closed her eyes, and tapped into the Nether.

—

The first thing Momo heard was the rustling of feet. Converse and Nikes and all assortments of fashion sneakers, squeaking and squealing across the floorboards like whiteboard erasers. Then there was the chatter, idle and stupid, young voices babbling on about nothing – where nothing consisted of crushes, and rivals, and math tests.

Math tests.

The thought sent a post-traumatic shiver down her spine, and she opened her eyes.

Her stomach immediately turned like a washing machine.

Why the hell am I back in middle school?

The hallway was unmistakable. It was the one she treaded down every C Block, transiting from Algebra to Biology and, crucially, making sure as few people perceived her as possible. She’d stick to the lockers like gum, hoodie drawn, face barely visible. As close to a fly on the wall as a human thirteen year old could get.

The intercom rang out. The voice was grainy and nostalgic, but not familiar. This wasn't her principal, at least not the way she remembered him.

“Oh, wonderful. Just wonderful,” the voice groaned. “Someone activated the Oblivion Stone.”

Another static-laiden voice leaned near the microphone – “No way they did. The Nether Janitor keeps those things clean and tidy at the bottom of the Barium Sea. It’s gotta be another anomaly.”

“Does that one look like an anomaly?”

Her worst middle school fear, come alive – Momo felt the uncanny sensation like she was being perceived.

“I think she does. Skinny legs. Big ole’ weird eyeballs. And what’s with the horns?”

“Yeah, she got those Dokkaebi horns. Did one of those assholes stumble in here?”

“They know the Creation of the Universe Museum is off-limits.”

The what? Momo’s eyebrows creased, and she looked around. This place looked nothing like a museum, and remarkably like a highschool hallway. Lockers, dirt, discarded backpacks. No red ropes or no-pictures signage.

Seeing no other option but to investigate, she started walking down the hallway. It was empty, regardless, so she had no one to avoid. All the doors were shut too – foggy remnants of students stuck behind glass. She had the eerie sense that even if she tried the handles, the doors wouldn’t budge. Like they were just set dressing.

“Oh god – it’s moving,” the main voice said, horrified. “Envy, do something.”

“What the hell do you expect me to do? You know we can’t leave the principal’s office.”

“We have to be able to do something. Can we send a hall monitor?”

“No. With the Nether acting up, they all got teleported, remember? Last I heard, Hallmonitor Kevin was stuck working at Subway. Morgana keeps having him make something called a Spicy Italian.”

“She’s a wicked, wicked, woman.”

One of the voices shushed the other.

“Don’t say that. She’ll hear you.”

Momo was starting to really hate the sound of their voices. It was both grating and a little unnerving. What did they mean hear? Was she here somewhere?

Momo turned the corner, and that’s when she saw it. A crumpled banner, strewn across the hallway, advertising a one-night-only event.