He felt as if it were his first time hearing another person's voice. But he wasn't pleased. He ignored the gliding soul and brought his focus back on himself.
He was concerned.
It felt as if he were both dead and alive, walking on the thin rope between them. It was not a rope granted to him but a rope he had braided with his own will and intent.
The will of a transcendent being and his intent to ascend even further.
Yet, that will was falling behind. His mind was drowning in an inexplicably thick void, and his thoughts lagged, barely following his will.
Where am I?
Jin was unsure whether he said it aloud or if it was simply a thought. He couldn't care much anymore.
Turning his head, he examined the place. His eyes lacked their usual sharpness.
Nothing. He was surrounded by nothingness.
Others would've panicked, but he didn't because he remembered this place.
'The abyss of mortality. It is similar to the one I saw when I was ascending… or was it when I was about to become a transcendent?'
His memories were foggy, as if hidden behind a door sealed by a shaman. But he knew it wasn't a shaman but something else.
He could feel his focus slipping again.
'This… this can't be godhood.'
Had he failed to transcend above the heavens?
'No, since I reached the abyss of mortality, it means I succeeded. But then, why am I still stuck here?'
The abyss of mortality was a state made up of abstract concepts that couldn't be understood. It was a stage one had to go through if they wanted to grow further, to enter a realm greater than their own.
After becoming aware of his apotheosis, he knew that he would once again have to travel through the abyss of mortality. Not only would he have to travel through it, but he would have to reach its end.
It was ironic to reach the end of an abyss, which was supposed to be endless.
But it was what gods were.
A being capable of making the impossible inevitable. Beings who could bend the world to their will. They were abstract concepts themselves, destroying realms with a single thought.
It was something he couldn't really comprehend.
Soon, he remembered he didn't have to.
He stretched his hand out.
'Though my will is unqualified, my intent remains the same. If I can't see the end of this hell, I'll tear it apart and create one myself.'
Jin peered into the endless darkness. Following his command, his titanic will emerged. It moved forward like a tidal wave capable of destroying everything in its path.
The darkness shifted. It had to; after all, Jin willed it to. The entire space was under immense strain. The clash lasted for a while, but the abyss stayed intact.
'Stubborn.'
He furrowed. If he had been manifesting his will previously, now he had solidified it. The tidal waves turned into pristine blades that crashed against the abyss. The blades were supposed to simply keep moving forward, yet they didn't. Because they were made out of his will and imagination.
Just like his mind had determined his will to take the form of an imperishable sword, it had also determined the abyss to be his opponent. So, even if the abyss lacked form previously, it had one now.
Suddenly, the void stopped shaking.
'Huh?'
Before he could realize it, Jin was drowning. He tried moving his limbs, but the void was colossal.
The form he had imagined the void to be was slowly deforming back into an endless abyss. The cracks in its form mended themselves swiftly.
It was as if all his effort was for nothing.
It didn't take him too long to figure out what was happening.
'My will is far too young…'
Soon, he realized that he wasn't drowning in the void. He was being suffocated under the weight of his own soul. His own being was trying to drown him in its vastness.
No matter what, his will was destined to fail him. He had been too hasty and reached this stage far too quickly. Now, he had to pay the price for his foolishness.
'To think I'd fail like this… is this what the heavens have planned for me? Is this their way of mocking my ways and my will to transcend?'
His consciousness struggled against it, but it was futile.
After all, his consciousness wasn't a part of his being. It was something artificial, something human.
And he had never seen a human contend against a god. He couldn't imagine a miracle like that happening.
His sight blurred. There wasn't much time.
Instead of panicking, he looked beside him. The ball of light, now flickering with a dimmer glow, called out to him again.
'Is this… how it ends?'
As his vision was about to perish completely, he heard the call again. He knew the source of the call all too well, since he had decided to push it aside.
But now, when he was about to lose himself, the call of the dying soul felt like his last hope.
It had managed to enter his consciousness, after all. The consciousness of a near-god being, whose consciousness was supposed to be impenetrable.
Yet, it had found its way here somehow, begging to be saved. Begging for salvation.
If he failed to act now, he would be buried under his own existence. And he was nothing if not unyielding.
Impulsively, he reached out for the soul. His fingers phased right through it. Or rather, entered it completely.
For a moment, he was taken aback by the warmth. It wasn't his; it belonged to the soul inside the sphere.
Ultimately, his entire body was pulled into it.
His last hope had borne an unexpected fruit.
And that fruit was bitter beyond measure.
"Good—heavens."
A sea of pain flooded his body. It wasn't his own pain, yet it was his to bear.
Cough… Cough…
Each breath was gut-wrenching. Despite staying still, his bones were screaming.
He slowly opened his eyes.
"It worked?"
It wasn't his own voice. At least not what he remembered it to be before entering the abyss of mortality.
It was much younger, carrying the fading tone of adolescence.
He looked down. Even an act as minor as that was taking a toll on him.
His body was riddled with wounds. He somehow remembered how he had incurred them but decided not to delve further into the alien memories.
Meanwhile, his clothes were drenched in blood. Some was already dried, while the rest was still wet and warm.
Most of it looked like his own, considering several wounds covered his body. But he knew that some of it wasn't his. It belonged to other people, his comrades.
'No… they were not my comrades.'
A few steps away, he could see a shortsword. Its edges were nicked and lacked the sharpness of a sword. He tried reaching for it but failed miserably.
He lifted his left arm. A pendant was tied to his wrist. It had an elegant silver chain; the pendant itself was covered in a lustrous gold case.
He gently opened it. Inside was something that looked similar to a painting, but it was too immaculate to be a mere painting. It was a perfect imitation, as if the artisan who had painted it was a master of his craft beyond compare.
But the art itself had withered away by the passage of time. Only a faint idea remained.
In the painting, he could see what looked like a family.
Something stirred in Jin's heart. He couldn't quite put a finger on what the feeling was.
Was it guilt? Or perhaps it was disappointment.
Whatever it was, it wasn't his, at least not completely.
But what reflected on the glass encasing the painting made him shudder.
Gasping softly, he straightened his back.
"Unbelievable…"