Chapter Text
The Puppetmaster is a name spoken in hushed whispers. She could call up a village to die for a scene, she could send an entire world hunting for their friend’s heads, she could call up monsters for nothing more than a zoo. (They don’t mention that the dead village was never alive at all, that her friends were immortal, that the monsters were nothing more than leather and string.)
The First Zombie is a name spoken in a curse by worlds. She could kill a world with a single bite, she could rise from death again and again, she could call an unstoppable wave of its kin with a single unearthly howl. (They don’t mention that she laughed with closed lips so as to not spook humans, that no one could die back then, that she used her summoning power for nothing more than pranks and trickery.)
Cleo is a name rarely spoken, these days. The Puppetmaster’s too busy to introduce herself, unless she’s requesting a book from an ancient archive. Which, unfortunately, she has to do now.
The monarch-winged librarian-Lori, by her name tag-sighed. “Look, Cleo, I understand you’ve been waiting for months, but I literally cannot give this to you. There’s a waiting list of academics a mile long and I’m not allowed to give you something until the valuable researchers -” she sounded painfully sarcastic “-have finished.”
Cleo took a deep breath. Do not threaten to break the librarian’s legs, people don’t respawn in this world, Joe is not here to explain…”Can I read them here, then?”
Lori frowned. “We’ve got one copy here right now…sure, why not, the head librarian here’s awful anyway. C’mon.” She started walking into the library, and Cleo followed, curious to see what would happen. “I can’t actually loan it out to you, but as long as you put it back when you’re done, it’ll be fine. Be careful with it, though.” Lori stopped between a pair of shelves and pointed to a book with the distinctive glow of enchantments to stop anyone from editing it. “Good luck!”
She turned around and flew off on orange and black wings. Cleo blinked. That was unexpected. Not unwelcome, but unexpected.
The First Zombie shrugged, picked up the book, and started reading.
The Dread Architect and the Man Who Defeated Him
Translator’s Note: This copy is written in both the original Old Galactic and Alexin. Since many words in Old Galactic still seem to have no counterpart in Alexic and the syntax is still partially untranslated, the Alexic version of this has been translated from an Enderian text that is suspected to be a translation of the original legend.
Cleo scoffed. They called this the best translation available? Please. They’d translated ‘ Maker of Nightmares ’ as ‘Dread Architect’. Honestly. Vechs didn’t just design Super Hostile worlds, he built them from the ground up, and the connotations were entirely different. And ‘ the Guy Who Conquers Death ’ was a far more complex title than just ‘the Man Who Defeated Him’. Joe had done far, far more than just defeat Vechs.
She sighed, thankful for the work being in Galactic as well, and got to reading.
Guy, he who shall become the Guy who Conquers Death, was a Player who incarnated within a world claimed by the Maker of Nightmares, who upon seeing a newly-incarnated Player at his disposal proceeded to force him to attempt to escape the vast labyrinths the Maker of Nightmares had designed.
The Maker of Nightmares, however, had a flaw within his grandiose plot, for new Players yet incarnate are the most adaptable of all; names unchosen, paths unwalked, forms oft still restless. Guy was forced to Become within the Nightmares, and his endings ad infinitum kept him only more changing and fluid. He learned the paths of the Maker of Nightmares’ labyrinths, death and return his one constant, suffering his one companion, and determination all he was allowed.
By the time the Maker of Nightmares sent him into his grandest and most agonizing trial yet, its name legendary and whispered only by the doomed, he was ready, long learned of the molten rock that lay below the Maker of Nightmares’ walls, long practiced of the wooden sword that was all he would be allowed, long changed into something that could survive endless torment, if only beneath the skin. Madness would not be allowed to pass his thoughts, fear ne’er welcomed into his heart, and the spite of a Player with nothing to lose driving him forth.
He was sent into the Nightmare of Legend, to hell itself, and went there with music on his lips and poetry building in his mind.
All had aligned, and all that remained was for him to claim victory.
He fought through gauntlets unimaginable to claim the foliage that springs in every world, exploring crossroads and battles unfathomable, dueling beasts now relegated to only the Nether Lands, and dying countless times. The Maker of Nightmares laughed and laughed as he watched the entertainment he had created die and die again for his amusement, but never did he claim the prize he found most desirable-Guy’s madness. He watched as Guy dug and found naught but boiling doom, he watched as Guy investigated sewers filled with arachnids craft to slay him, he watched as Guy drowned and fell and burned and fought and died and died and died-but never did he watch as Guy stopped. The Maker of Nightmares watched as he wept and screamed and hurt and hated and broke, but never did he stop, and it made the Maker of Nightmares furious, that a being he had craft to shatter and go mad still held the determination of the oldest, strongest Player, the spite of a thousand seas of pufferfish.
The Guy, eventually, approached completion, and this Nightmare had been craft to return a Player who claimed victory to the hub-but there was no escape for the Guy. The Maker of Nightmares watched as the Guy finished the Nightmare’s challenges-and nothing happened. The Guy had claimed escape, claimed victory, and yet the Maker of Nightmares would not allow him out. The Guy drew his sword, earned through blood and tears, and called the Maker of Nightmares’ true name, the name only Elder players know, the name the Guy had learned from the Maker of Nightmares’ taunting him, making sure that he would know who had made his suffering, and with that name the Guy called down the Maker of Nightmares for battle.
The Guy was slain countless times, of course. The Maker of Nightmares had created this world, controlled it, was a god in his domain, but the Guy rose once more, even when the Maker of Nightmares did not allow him to return to life. He should have been claimed by the Endless Void, by the Vast Unincarnation, and yet-he conquered it. He rose again and again, and became the Guy who Conquers Death.
As the two fought, ancient god and simple Player, the Maker of Nightmares offered the Guy who Conquers Death an exchange. He would release him, send him off to live-but one day, he would call him for a final challenge.
Cleo grimaced. Joe had, of course, told her about almost everything, but it was still unpleasant to read. And a final challenge…well. That was, unfortunately, in a different myth somewhere. She was hoping this one would get the facts wrong, say that Vechs had just defeated Joe, tell her where he was buried…but no. Of course not. It couldn’t be that easy. It never could.
Though, giving him the placeholder name ‘Guy’...well. That was almost funny enough to be worth reading the whole thing. She put the book back on the shelf, and headed back to the front desk.
When she arrived, Lori asked, “Did you find what you were looking for?”
Cleo shook her head. “Do you have any other books on the Guy from that one?”
Lori frowned, antennae flicking. “I don’t think so…they appear in a lot of myths, but we don’t have any others where they’re central. If you’re looking for the next one, chronologically, it’s the Origin of Undead. I think there’s a private collection with an original copy, and the Hive libraries are a bit bigger than ours, though I don’t know if the Guy is prominent there…can I ask what you’re working on that you need so much about them?”
Cleo smiled, lips closed to hide jagged teeth. “It’s for a friend.”
She waved, headed out the door, and started planning.