Chapter 22: Veils of Oblivion
Upon crossing the threshold of the maw, the gigantic maw of the fallen Titan sealed shut. There was no dramatic grinding or thunderous roar. The upper and lower ridges simply translated together, closing the gap with the soft finality of a coffin lid.
He was now in the bowels of this Titan—the most dangerous aspect of all. He closed his eyes, not sparing a glance at the interior where he stood. There was something he had to do first.
His astral form projected into his subconscious, descending through a near-endless well lined with memories from the distant past and echoes of the "future." He had to seal them all.
They would distort his perception of time, for this realm operated on inverse causality. And since he was running short on time—prodded by the haunting images of Valen's annihilation lingering in his subconscious—his mind, seeking more time, might try to slow its flow. But this realm would retaliate, accelerating it instead.. He could even become trapped in the nightmare of this dead god—a truth he had uncovered within the infinite pages of the Exorcist's Requiem
With a flicker of his hands in the dark, convoluted groove, he intoned,
"Memory Seal."
An encroaching fog, darker than black, rose from the base of the fourth strata, drowning his memories in a labyrinthine black maze. His astral form ascended from the well toward the rift of bright light—the waking world—before the projection could be shrouded and lost in that fog, one that induced temporary forgetfulness.
"I'm betting on you... Frankenstein."
His form tore back into his body with a jolt. His eyes surged open, but first he glanced at his palms.
Why was he here?
He was William Frankenstein.
But why was he here?
What was here?
He racked his brain, but it seemed blank—pitch black, an absence of everything.
Then his gaze wandered, taking in his surroundings.
He was in an expanse—a nebula.
A swirling cloud of pale dust arranged in slow, predatory spirals encircled a miniature galaxy of artifacts. Countless matte-black cubes—perfect hyperdimensional tesseracts, their edges flickering between three and eleven dimensions—orbiting an unseen center. The cubes varied in size, from moons to coffins. Their light-absorbing surfaces drifted in perfect, unwavering paths older than causality itself.
His form drifted within this very space.
"William... it's Frankenstein," a fellow voice echoed from within. "You sealed your memories for specific reasons—bearing less urgency than now. You wish to retrieve two divine artifacts from this place: the bowels of the fallen Titan Anubis. The Sands of Time and the Sacred Grave of Nephyths."
His eyes stretched toward the hyperdimensional tesseracts swirling in complex orbits.
"I see... Thanks, Frankenstein." There must have been a reason he had done so, pertaining to this realm. "So, what do I do next, Frankenstein?"
"Take a step. Don't float, William... walk."
And so he did. He took a step, and contrary to what he expected, his feet met solid stone where there had been nothing.
Before his eyes, out of the void, chunks of debris reformed into fitting cuboidal obsidian slabs, creating an existential causeway that extended with each step he took.
In this vast space, his form now traversed a single path. Pillars formed concurrently—not from debris, as the floor had been, but from compressed absence.
Between them, his blue eyes watched chunks of debris continuously detonate: a continent fragment bloomed into a short-lived star, burned for seven heartbeats, then collapsed back into dead matter and resumed its silent drift. The heat from this process dissipated into blue luminous butterflies—moving, beautiful three-dimensional geometries.
As he walked the regenerating causeway, his overcoat flapped in nonexistent winds. His palms outstretched, his body was encircled by a myriad of these butterflies. One came to rest on his fingers, pulsing with otherworldly beauty that almost made the constant destruction of the realm feel distant.
How could destruction birth something so beautiful?
His blue eyes pulsed in rhythm with the sapphire glow of the butterfly.
Then the causeway terminated at a precipice, beyond which lay the vast orbital line curated by those swirling tesseracts.
The butterflies around him, as if having served their purpose, dissipated into fragrant golden light. It swirled first around his form, then joined the orbit, bonding into a golden line.
"Before you, William, are the artifacts your previous self specified," the voice said. His blue eyes darted once again to the tesseracts.
"Standing at this edge requires absolute clarity. You must decide with precision which artifact is *required*—not wanted—for a purpose vast enough to justify disturbing the Titan's imprisonment. No words need be spoken, William, for the Expanse perceives the shape of necessity."
Then it was easy. He just had to will it. Will itself was the subconscious expression of a command.
"Be certain of what you wish for, William."
He issued the command. He willed the two artifacts into being, painting a clear picture in his mind of two tesseracts, each containing the artifacts within his palms.
And thus, the Expanse complied.
Two tesseracts, each as huge as an entire city, detached from their millennia-long orbits. They shrank as they approached, edges folding inward through unfathomable dimensions until they hovered before him, no larger than a heart—dark cubes made up of adjoining smaller cubes, whirling in different directions.
They emitted intense waves of astrality. Within those seals lay the divine artifacts.
He stretched out his palms in beckoning. The floating tesseracts complied, coming to rest in his hands.
Yet his palms registered no sensation. Even when he ran his fingers over both cubes, he felt nothing. They weighed nothing—it was as if he held nothing at all.
"I think, William... it's best we leave," the voice within him bellowed.
His sapphire eyes glanced at the now-cracking slab floor—a barricade sustained by his will for the artifacts. Now that they were gone, the causeway had no stronghold to stand upon.
His form urgently tossed the sealed artifacts into the folds of his overcoat and retreated from the crumbling precipice. It unraveled slowly with each step he took.
"Make haste, William. Should you crumble along with the causeway, you shall become part of its cycle of destruction and reconstruction. Your body dismantled into matter and astral pools... and then recoupled in a dreary ouroboros."
A smile spread across his face as he ran along the destroying path, his form bathed in a swarm of glimmering butterflies, his eyes echoing the same sapphire glint.
He didn't know why, but in that moment, all he felt—even without knowing why—was accomplished. Perhaps it stemmed from his earlier self, the one without gaps where memories should have been.
"You have my sincere thanks, Entity Frankenstein."
________________________________________
"Mom..." Her eyes locked onto her mother's. "I wish to undergo the Hypnoapotheosis."
Auriel wasn't certain her mother had heard clearly, for the sounds of screams, cries, and hastened footsteps drowned out her voice.
Was it some sort of revolution?
Instinctively, her eyes darted to the window, alongside her mother's. Her gaze held fright as her mother's hands clutched hers tightly.
She could see multitudes of people hurtling past the shop, their eyes laden with apprehension and fear, crashing into one another. Her eyes darted back to her mother's, who now mirrored her terror.
"Mom... what's happening?"
"I don't know, Auriel," her mother said. Her eyes scanned the surroundings through the only window. Then they went bloodshot, gazing transfixed. In the same instant, a colossal darkness eclipsed the day, making it feel like night.
Cold chills ran down her spine, accompanied by great seismic steps that rattled the shop's frail frame. Her eyes fixed on the dark stump—huge as the size of ten cathedrals—rising from the ground, dwarfing buildings in the distance and her own field of vision. She could see a flood of dark liquid that seemed to burn the streets in its path.
Her heart palpitated, a frantic drum against her ribcage. Her body trembled in trauma and fear.
Her mother's urgent hands shook her reluctant frame, pulling her still form from the window. "Auriel! We have to move now!"
Her mother's voice sounded distant. Her mind was paralyzed by the sheer vastitude of what lay before them: a mother and child in tatters, drowned and scorched by the ichor slowly flowing down the street; a husband letting go of his wife with a broken ankle, allowing her to drown in the black, corrosive liquid. She died without a scream. Auriel's bloodshot eyes darted to the sight of
a kid glancing around for his mother, only to be squashed by the surging crowd. His head smashed against the stone. He tried to rise, but more footsteps rendered it impossible. In the end, he died a bloody pulp. And the wailing crowd seemed not to care.
"Auriel!" Her mother's voice bellowed in rhythm with another great rumble that toppled all the furniture in the store. Their forms collapsed in a crumpled heap to the ground. Her head disoriented as she winced in pain.
Her mother crawled toward her, framing her face in her palms, eyes near tears. "Auriel!" Her eyes frantically scanned her body. "Are you hurt?"
Her frightened hands gripped her mother's shoulders as she laid her head against hers. Tears dripped from her eyes, along with moisture from her nose. "I saw... Mom... they... y..." Her face contorted, her voice breaking.
Her mother's hands drew her into a hug, her damp tears soaking through her garments as she wept more. "I know, Auriel. I understand."
There, amidst the destruction and chaos, two figures lay crumpled—mother and daughter, the last beacon of sanity in a crumbling world.
"We have to move, Auriel, lest we suffer the same fate as them." Her mother's hands pulled her from the hug, locking onto her teary eyes before wiping them with the hem of her garment. "You have to be strong, Auriel." Her face was slightly shrouded in the encroaching night as she spoke.
Like a broken, faulty machine, she nodded, sniffing back the moisture as she heaved herself up. Her figure moved forward, her mother trailing behind, holding her hand firmly as they made for the door.
When she finally emerged, what greeted her was a cacophony of chaos—the sound of feet pounding against stone as nobles and slum-dwellers alike headed toward the northern great gate.
"Auriel, we have to follow suit!" Her mother's voice rose like a shout, tearing into her almost-frozen subconscious.
She took a step to move when a great creak rattled her ears and the ground. A few in the crowd toppled, only to be trampled by those behind.
Her form almost followed suit, but she was anchored by her mother, who held the doorpost. "Auriel!"
"The great clock!" a scream tore from the crowd. "It's crumbling!"
Her frightened eyes tore toward the air, beyond the visage of their shop, to see the descending monolith of the great clock. Her widened eyes traced the ungraceful arc of its fall. At this rate, it was...
Her gaze wandered to their shop, now just a few meters from the falling shadow.
"Mom!" she screamed at the top of her lungs. Her mother's eyes urgently beheld the falling doom. It was going to crush them both.
In those fleeting moments, her mother sprang into action. Her form lunged toward Auriel's, outstretched hands pushing her sideways, away from the square shadow of the dark, huge clock.
"I love you, Auriel."
"Mom!"
Her screams were muffled as the great crash of the monolith clock slammed into the ground, forming a massive crater. Huge splinters of wood and metal impaled some of the frenzied, screaming crowd, crushing others and reducing the shop to pulp. The impact hurled her tear-streaked form further away.