They were supposed to win! They were the heros of this story! . . . Was this how the game was supposed to end? Or even be played in the first place?
. . . When will they be able to go home?
"Can't_Touch_This_69" limped, sometimes using his broken, crack infested lance to lean on whenever his balance was slipping. The ground he tred was soaked with blood — from human and from those not — mud, water, and all other liquids that made up the vile concoction that stained his sapphire blue armor boots.
He stumbled to a stop when he was face-to-face with a Titanosaurs. Instincts had him point his lance towards the profane form of a creature. The navy-blue shaft gleamed, harsh, ghastly, macabre white light from the white flames that dotted around the place.
"Can't_Touch_This_69" lowered his lance. The monstrosity had been long dead. Flies buzzed around. Maggots feasted like kings. Although he had fought, killed and had soldiers killed by the beast, being this close unnerved him. A head much like a tyrannosaurus, with horns protruded and shaped into a makeshift crown.
Unlike a rex, it had hands, hands large enough to wrap around a grown man. "Can't_Touch_This_69" grimaced. He had been in those vice grip before.
He walked around the beast. It's crystal core had been removed. "Fuck..." He left, picking his way more carefully in the battlefield. With the crystal core removed, that meant some strong survivor(s) remained. It was a safe bet they hadn't gone far.
Sure, they might be Ascension 4 or 5, not a problem for an Ascension 7. Normally. But they'll be fools not to try to attack someone who barely clenched the glory of victory against a Goddess and her personal protection unit. He's lucky to even be alive.
Glancing upwards, black clouds blanketed the sky. Golden afternoon sunlight barely could peirce through. How long as he been fighting? Weeks? Months? Years maybe? After over seven hundred millennia of being in the game, he never bothered to keep track of time.
'No. . . This is the real world now. . .' A cacophony of moans and cries brought him out of his stupor. Grief and pain sang in this symphony. Skyscrapers of smoke rise high into the air from the occasional patches and pryes of white flames, fueled by mounts of either bodies or other flammable matter.
Even sections of the ground glowed white, bubbling. The battle out here was just as ferocious as the one he had.
'Was it worth it though? This. . . This isn't a victory. . .' "Can't_Touch_This_69" thought, attempting to place his free hand over his chest. Only to find his right arm had yet to regenerate. He chuckled. 'Johnny, you are retarded. You lost your arm remember?' He let out a pained sigh. His meager Vis Existentiae at this point in time can barley support him being conscious, let alone walking. He dismissed the idea of using either Regeneration or Debugging.
'Maybe "YourFriendlyNeighborhoodUndeadHealer" could patch me up. Hope she's alive and can heal me?' Johnny slowly picked up the pace. He tuned out the sights of blood of various colors mixing. Tuned out the crackling of fire, buzz of flies and moans pain and grief. Tuned out the smells of burning and rotting flesh, scorched earth and smoke.
(What's the difference between here, and that place? The place in-between death and true death?
It's not paradise. That he knows for sure.)
Thoughts slithered into his mind. Thoughts he long thought he'd abandoned. Perilous thoughts. Treasonous thoughts. He broke into a pained run. Running till he found the meeting place at a cliff that overlooked the ocean.
The meeting place was the ruins of monument famous throughout Terra: the Vermillion Spire. One of thirty-eight spires. The Vermillion Spire once stood tall and proud, with king-like majesty, tearing through the once azure skies. Now. . . It laid, only at 1/10th of it's normal height, like a dying dog being strangled by old age and sickness.
[Initializing Environmental OST No. 89; "Vermillion Spire"]
Ah. This theme always finds a way to soothe his soul. Despite how somber it can be when listened for too long. It's. . . Calming.
'. . .odd. . . Is the spire less. . . Colorful? Sure. It was mostly vermilion on the outside. . .'
Is it just him, or is the world becoming less and less saturated? The game—, world had lost it's "shine" the moment he awoke as a Transcender. Everything became a desaturated mess that greatly contrasted against the godrays and RTX. Oh how beautiful it was to experience when he first got the game.
If only it stayed that way...
With his lance as support, he made his way up the weathered staircase. Survivors where to make their way here as decided. At the top, only one person stood there. Sacred Relic, being a double-edge sword of British design, resting in hand. White and gold armor reflecting the orange light of dusk. Eyes focused to some distant land westward.
Odd. What happened to the others? Had. . . Had they died? It's was possible. Most likely certain for some. Unfortunately, that was the case. Seven magnificent, beautifully designed torches stood proudly, embedded into the stone. All lit, liquid flames of two different colors, cool colors on the inside while the warmer colors claimed the outer edges, never mixing, dancing with healthy vigor.
Four where barely remaining. Flicking from being alive to dead.
The last two. . . Unlit. . .
"Steven!"
The man, standing proud like the king he once was all those millennia ago, cocked his head. Even after all these millennia, the man didn't look a day past thirty-four. Gunmetal silver beard trimmed short and neat and matching hair slicked backed. He de-materialized his silver sword as he turned to face Johnny.
Johnny limped quickly, regretting his decision as his legs decided they had done enough for while. The floor came closer to his face an—
He never hit the floor. Pulling Johnny up slowly and carefully, Steven made his way to the last standing wall and laid Johnny to rest.
"Rest now. We can't have your injuries worsen." Steven held out a open palm, a warm green light shined and Johnny could feel that now he could focus his Vis Existentiae to regenerating his missing arm. Or maybe fix his Sacred Relic? "Don't trying anything. Just focus on preserving energy for the trip back home." The King of the Reverends chastised.
Johnny chuckled. "You must have won your fight a long time ago. How on terra do you still have this much Vis Existentiae left? Even your —"
"Stacey treated me before she left to find the others." Ah. So "YourFriendlyNeighborhoodUndeadHealer" got to him first. "I. . . Only got lucky in my fight. The God of Gods didn't put his all into the fight."
Hold up! Did he hear that right? Surely he wasn't. "Huh? Didn't put his all?"
"It's strange. . . I planned and expected for the worse case scenario for the battles. Yet, how does one foresee a mad deity not wanting to defend their lives or even the kingdoms they once cared for? How does one fight knowing, that their opponent only lost because they wanted too? Can one celebrate a victory like that? A victory obtained due to a whim. A whim that. . . Doesn't benefit the one who lives in any sort of way?"
"I'm14andthisisdeep." Johnny joked. A side-eyed made flinch. "Sorry. It's had to be done. So, where are the others?"
"At the White Raven Mansion." Steven said. "Only Alice and Gordon fell in battle. Alice fell holding the Goddess of War over at the lands of Northend. Gordon was killed by the Goddess of Pestilence. All of their Acolytes were slain. They did manage to take down the opposing sides Guardians."
Of course it was those two. Alice's battle manic tendencies often had her prancing with death, ending with her in death's manor more than there are fingers on ten men's hands.
That never once stopped her. Only natural her best fight, would be against the Goddess of War.
Gordon's snobbish, old money mentality, paired with a hubris clouded to the point he might be the next prince of pride, never let him leave battles that were unwinnable.
But he somehow won those fights. But he also had the ability to die winning them.
They'll both be in that place. That place of torment for people that go down the path of being a Transcender. Tormented by being neither alive or dead, never passing on to paradise or damnation.
"I see. How long before they resurrect?" The green light from Steven's hand faded. Johnny felt like he could now regenerate his missing arm. Which he did. "Cuz I nearly lost. If she was going serious, I might have had a harder time. But, I'll still win." Lies. He knew they where.
"I've always wondered. Wondered why these "blessings" of ours grants us immortality? Why are we able to go from playing life in perma-death, hardcore, nuzlocke or whatever, and live life with the ability to return back from that place? Or even have a "totem of undying" and not die?" Steven gazed eastwards, towards the ocean. "These powers. . . The ones from this world. . . They. . . They are. . . Have we sold ourselves to something? You must have felt it too?"
"Steven. When will they resurrect?"
"At Ascension 4, we leave the realm of mortals. . ." Steven laughed darkly for a moment. "Oh? They'll return in a hundred years. . . Thousand if they weren't too severely injured. Hell, what am I saying? If your condition has anything to say, then we might have to wait two or three millennia before we'll hear from them." Steven cocked his head towards Johnny. "Unless, you want to offer a person to be a Vessel? Choose correctly. We wouldn't want two souls fighting for dominance nor do you want Alice or Gordon soul's parasiting the Vessel's souls."
The longer he stares into this man's eyes. The more alien he feels. There was no light behind them. Not in Steven being physically dead. More so spiritually. A hollow man. Sure, they had the shine caused by the guy's Vis Existentiae, but those were a masquerade.
"I get it. They. . . They won't be with us. . ." This was a lesson that should have been learnt long time ago. But God dammit! It hurts! It hurts. What good is living for millennia on end, if all you see are the deaths of those close to you? Heaven forbid they are Ascension 4 and higher. . . You'll be seeing them die not once, not twice. . . Nor even ten times. . .
"And besides. They got the better end of the stick." Steven whispered, shaking his head as Johnny began flicker jabbing the air, with his new right arm. "Their might not be a world to resurrect too." With a finger, Steven pointed off towards the ocean.
Johnny stopped his game. He turned to look over the horizon. Nothing. Pouring some more Vis Existentiae into his eyes, Johnny blenched. "What did. . ." How. . . How has he not noticed this!?
Chunks of earth, roads, trees, anything that should be grounded, floated upwards. Pillars of ocean water, their gargantuan sizes stretching for a good thirty-eight kilometers(23,61 miles) rose and flowed upwards. Waterups. Never thought that joke would become reality. His eyes followed where they ended.
. . . What could even begin to describe this?
Nothing went passed the sky. No, there was no sky. For the sky had floated upwards into itself. What he could see when the black clouds parted for long enough, was the ocean. A grey, near colorless ocean high above their heads. If one stared long enough, one could see the animals, creatures, the people, floating in statis.
Johnny has seen things. Things cyclopean. Things so futuristic that they feel far beyond cyberpunk within a cyberpunk world. Horrors giving birth to armies of horrors. Gods and Goddesses, beings with whole churches, temples, followers goddammit, alike eating and feasting on other weaker divine beings and mortals alike.
But this. . .
A miserable forsaken world if one could say so. Johnny never once not regretted being reverse isekai-ed to this place.
"It began happening after the deities of this world began "dying"." Said Steven like he was talking about the weather. Not the world falling apart, tearing at the seams.
"D—"
"Before you ask, we came up with a solution. Or, accurately, Simon. Why do I even try to sugarcoat it. It's closer theory than a solution. Even if it was, it is far too short-term."
". . . What is the plan? It doesn't sound like you like it."
"Lamentable Virtue." Steven said. "After we all have recovered. We'll use the corpses of the fallen deities to hold up the world. In time, build the foundations for a better tomorrow."
". . ."
"Simon proposed that they'll work as scaffolding. Holding up the world while we work on a long-term, or permanent solution." The King of the Reverends said with a sigh, running his gauntlet hand through his hair. A second later, he brought out a wilting spider lily. Gently caressing the flower.
". . ."
"It's better those corpses be defiled than life ends not ceasing the chance. The chances to see the tomorrow cloaked in golden light. You'll understand this eventually." Johnny shuddered. This. . . This wasn't the man who children saw as their idol. Who writers wrote novels, plays and comics about. This, was a ghastly shadow of half the man Steven was.
Steven got up and walked to where the western wall used to be. The orange afternoon sunlight was now pale, harsh and macabre. De-materializing his Sacred Relic, Johnny stood, favoring a leg, limped his way over to Steven.
"It has been decided. We'll perform the act, and depart. We'll go far and wide, saving people, building nations. Once either that has been done, or Alice and Gordon have resurrected, we'll meet again. Under one roof, sharing the First Breakfast in years."
"What about the people?"
"They'll have our Order Knights. More than enough to ensure their safety." It has been millennia since he last was adorned with a crown, but that confidence, the confidence that could have a man charge to his death, still lingered. Fate of the world sinking its fangs deep into his shoulders, and he still knew what to do.
"What do we tell the people?" Johnny whispered. "What will we say to them of our decision!? Our act of blasphemy!?"
"Simple really," Steven began walking to the north facing wall before stopping. Ten heartbeats later, his Sacred Relic manifested in his right hand. Pointing the sword towards the wall, the space-time around it wrapped. Nine gems appeared from the tear and swirled around. Around till they came to a stop. Now, a pink-purple portal now stood. "everything will be fine. They are fine, more than fine, for they have won. Simple but effective lie once you see it come to fruition. Hell, it might become the truth. This is the ideal." And with that, the man left through the portal.
Johnny walked over to where the west wall was, and looked down at the lingering survivors, some clad in animal skin, some in medieval armor and people clad in armor of cyberpunk origins. An odd sight. But. . .
'. . . Lamentable Virtue. . . Becoming Magnificent Virtue. . .' He looked at the alter. The two unlit torches left a clutching pressure around his heart. What would have they said? Would they have been against this?
If they were, what plan would they have put to the table?
"Deities of the past, present and future. . . Please. . . If you can. . . Forgive for our Sacrilegious Act." Johnny said, then left through the portal.
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