Chapter Text
I, Cain Vasilios, am fucked beyond belief.
I was a young adult when the world turned, being a natural Ontokinetic meant that I could sequester myself in an adjacent plane to avoid the bombs, thus thusly radiation. I had no living family, friends were fighting the several wars scattered throughout the world.
I'd lost everything. I’m cognizant enough to know I was mad with guilt, shame, and loneliness. In response, I decided a long nap was the best course of action. So with a timer set and openings in this foxhole plane, I began to dreamlessly sleep.
But I wasn't going to stay asleep. Waking up from time to time, I began to estimate the time necessary for the radiation to fade away so I could leave this drab plane of existence. While awake, I took to writing in a Stream of Consciousness Book and a Journal explaining and expanding my Ontological abilities.
It was only a few years before my birth before the genome responsible for Humanity reality bending nature to take hold, and like kudzu, it took hold fast.
Before the Rarefaction Bombs dropped, I was considered above average in skill, imagination, reach, and durance. My older and younger brothers Able, and Seth respectively were better in all categories. I had them dead to rights on skill alone.
… I miss my brothers.
'My eyes opened for the…' I checked around the fabricated room for a couple of seconds, Looking at a cork board for a singular paper with several crossed boxes neatly lined up. I made a fresh mark before recounting.
'... 28, 29- for the 31st time since coming here.' I wordlessly concluded. I always wondered when watching documentaries regarding social isolation as to why the people displayed are so weak willed to not last three days before going insane. After the 10 mark I was definitely feeling it. But the estimate for my timer was still way too off to try to leave. And now I'm tired.
The digital timer was a slow RGB color, slowly going through its preset colors before it reset. It helped with the boredom.
The timer revealed that I have been away from baseline reality for 189 years, 11 months, and 14⅓ days. My estimation was that I could safely walk outside in the late year of 200, being able to breathe the air, and drink the water without having to purge myself of the lingering radiation, might still have to.
But I'm tired of this. Ever since the escalation to World War IV, I've been building this foothold in reality, planning to take my brothers and mother into it to avoid the entire mess. But my plan was shot down by them, saying that they were needed by our home country to fight a war we never agreed to. But here I am, strapping a black hooded trench coat over memory graphite armor. It's civilian grade, it'll stop small arms and most melee weapons, but hopefully I wouldn't need it. I pulled a pitch colored balaclava, with particulate-retardant tinted goggles. Pulling out my WWIV-revised alice pack I began to fill it with essential tools and materials.
After packing my preserved rations and water to last for four days, I approached the tightly stitched rupture floating at the end of the space, pried it open, stabilized the breach-
-Then stepping out into the world at last.
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The first thing I noticed when leaving my foxhole plane was that I couldn't smell anything. It wasn't because I was nose blind, it was that I couldn't even pick up the smell of plants, animals, or even soil.
Then my ears began to adjust to the roaring wind. A little hope died inside me as the sound was as if nothing was there to give resistance.
When my sight came in last I already knew what to expect, I was just surprised by the color of the wasteland or rather lack thereof.
There were outcroppings of grounded stones and uneven piles of the dirt. The wind was visible, but it was so prominent that it created a natural fog that prevented me from seeing any further than forty meters in any direction.
After closing the plane rupture, I looked into the sky.
'Cloudy, not a speck of sky that I can see,' I pondered. I wonder if the sky being thick with clouds for a long time killed the plants in the world. But I'll get answers later on, that I'm certain on
Making the executive decision that I needed to know where I was, I sat on the rather soft layer of grayscale dirt, crossing my legs in a comfortable position before closing my eyes.
Feeling the corporeal tethers snapping one-by-one until one was left, I rose into the sky. My spirit emerges from the waterless clouds, granting myself a view of the dusk sky uninterrupted by a speck of cloud. Some stars are dimmer than expected but Polaris is still going bright. Pulling myself back into my body, reattaching my corporeal tethers. I stood before trekking unerringly in the direction of True North.
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Looking at my analog wristwatch. I counted that I've walked for a solid four hours since the start of my journey. I wish I could say nothing interesting appeared in this drab landscape, however, periodically I would spot what looked like upscaled centipedes at the very edge of my vision. Initially, I couldn't make out what any of the creatures were, but the more I saw them, the more I could understand what I was looking at.
I also understood that I was surrounded by them.
Now I could stand still, let them try to surround and blast them with molten metal or fry them with 240 kiloamps of lightning. However, I've waited for too long to do that and I wasn't going to attack the air and tire myself out.
The sighting continued at an increased rate, until I heard the chittering of them behind me.
Manifesting a ball of molten lead in my left and pulling out my stiletto with my right, I turned to the flank, ready for the pounce. When the beast did I held my hand straight out above shoulder level.
Bullseye.
The insect's front half was dissolved like a hot knife to a marshmallow. Ready for the swarm, I drag my hand through the air as if the world was my canvas and my hand- the brush.
With a ring of liquid hot lead waist height surrounding me, and the closing ring of… well bugs, I began to compress gallons of surrounding air into the area of a baseball. Once the weirdly shaped centipedes got to a favorable distance, I released the air above myself, created a sonic blast so powerful it would kill the centipedes through sheer pressure in the ear canals.
However, that is greatly overshadowed by the scattering of lead orblettes hotter than the sun, instantly turning them into a smoking mess.
'Well, that settles these overgrown bug-' I internally concluded before something sharp pierced my right calf.
"HEY!" I shouted, causing the lucky to spasm–releasing its mandibles from my leg.
Moving faster than thunder, I plunged my stiletto guard deep in the back of the centipede before dragging the blade back towards me, halfways bisecting the enlarged insect. There was no blood until it hit the floor.
Audibly sighing, I looked at my stiletto, the blade and some of my hand was covered in blue-tinted transparent blood. Nothing a handy cloth couldn't fix.
Focusing on the wound on my right calf, for any serious damage, the centipede's mandibles were sharp but the wound was shallow, despite it not hitting either the tibia or fibula.
I shook my head at this information, what do they hunt? They couldn't pierce my flesh, they seemingly aren't venomous, and while using pack tactics, they don't do anything other than swarm. It's like they're stupid.
Using bloodless healing, I mended my leg, leaving no scars. After repairing the ripped pants leg. I'd decided to get away from the stinking carcasses before I settle down for the night? A quick astral projection confirmed my judgment before I made my final trek for the night.
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In a dream of copper-colored clouds; shared across many acolytes within many kingdoms. The Godseekers were skimming the realm of unconsciousness.
The hymns of gods of Essence, Nightmare, Soul, and of Void were sung, never together; never ending.
The living acolytes themselves were not without fault, instead they were trying to sing towards any nearby gods that may heed their call and grant onto them: Attunement.
But a being, no four beings, caught their focus.
It was a battle. A battle between four Ascendant gods of Essence, Nightmare, Soul, and Void each fighting the other with unending fury. When one was weakened the other three will become empowered, tearing into each other faster. This prompts the weakened soul to feast on the remains wholly before reinvigorating themselves back into fighting shape.
When the Godseekers inevitably lost focus of this epic fight, she found that the sea of devout worshippers had ceased their discordant singing, being as still as a pond. Before long the Godseekers were singing hymns towards their nearby gods, drastically quieter than before.
It wasn't for naught, for the same battle that took place before appeared once more. However, there wasn't a battle between these four praise-worthy gods of battle, instead the gods were… were…
Singing.
It wasn't in a voice that any bug of Godhome, Godnest, or even the Godsnare had heard or even collectively thought possible. The God of Nightmare voices were like that of brass instrumentations, singing in the sounds of Trumpets, Trombones, and Tubas.
The God of Soul was of the sounds of Violins, Celli, of Harps; The sounds of strings.
The God of Void with its percussive Timpani, Cymbals, and Snares–creating a rhythm that forced those who listened to follow it any part of their manifested forms. Quite unusual for a Lord of Shades, however, seeing how they battled before with such vigor, it was quickly excused.
Lastly the voices of the Dream God were faint, almost silent. The Godseekers' shared hearts went cold at the assumption that they may witness the death of a higher being so promising. But their brilliance was like that from before- searing and uncompromising. Only until hearing their complex melody of bassoons, clarinet, and horns of unknown make.
This shared goal was awesome in its clarity of sound and purpose, but also in how well each existence complimented each other. When the Godseekers had focused on the performing Gods of Battle and Song only then did they realize, the four- who previously ripped at each other apart, are now playing an orchestra. The Godseekers all began the memorize their play:
The first contour brought upon the audience a strong emotion, it was like wielding the heat and brightness of the sun herself, the God of Dreams was most prominent here.
The second contour started abruptly with the voice of God of Soul piercing the melody with wicked, shrieking violins, seeming that even foreign gods of Soul and Dreams would still fight for dominance.
The third contour was smoother but rapidly started to crescendo, getting faster but keeping rhythm, as if they were surrounding themselves with the warmth of the captured sun against an approaching threat. This until all that was heard was the Nightmare Gods' evolution of the same motif, as if someone was putting the wildness of the surface winds into their claws, before exploding with the other three joining the end of the contour.
The last contour contains only the God of Soul and Void, a melody of violence and woe ringing out, repeating as they both faded away along with the rest.
Oh.
Oh such a SPLENDID PERFORMANCE!
It would move a Wyrm to tears, a Nightmare troupe ringmaster would've given a standing ovation, a Lord of Shades would break their silence to demand an encore, A Dream God would illustrate a tapestry in the likeness of these strange gods recital!
As they are doing right now.
These beings of strength, wisdom, and courage must be found, we must attune to them, we'll sing their name until time ceases to exist.
We must focus.
We will focus.