Like all learned Pathbearers, I love the divine and despise the gods. The separation is quite simple.

Being divine is about the shaping of rules and the setting of one’s own laws. They are edicts that you decide on, that you compel to be. To be divine means to be the lawmaker, the sword-holder, the rule-giver.

To be a god is to drown in your own hubris, to think that you are beyond all, that you are above all. No, gods are apart from all. You all have stepped aside, have entered a place adjacent to Integration. Yet you are still a part of it. You might have your own realm where you reign supreme, but these realms are attached to worlds, attached to ordinary followers that view you with faith.

I would describe godhood as the liberation of your soul and shackling of your mind. For without contrasting boundaries, there is no dialectic to discover the limits of your capability. And there is no easy way to define what restrictions the System has. To become a god is an escape. And thus, it is a false path, a severed path.

Do you know how most unworthy gods die? Through entropy as well. Because eventually, they are forgotten. In victory or defeat, they are forgotten. Even if they create their desired utopia, when there is no more struggle, there will be no more prayer. And when the prayers are diminished and the people grow, nourished and unburdened, the System discards them.

It is ultimately inevitable then that they are taken, consumed, slain by those who suffer, those who strive.

There is no escape, not in godhood, not in submission, not in faith.

Only through understanding and absolute dominance of the System itself will we finally be able to claim freedom for the future.

The Demiurge does not decide. They merely delude. Themselves, and those beneath them.

-Udraal Thann on Gods and Divinities

186 (I)

Udraal [I]

Dread filled Veronica’s gut as she watched the remains of the Waif spill away from those wicked, curved claws. In the claustrophobic darkness of the crawlspace, Daughter gave a cry of shrieking frustration, as she no longer had a channel to release her power.

The nuclear reactor’s presence was like a leaden weight placed upon the Ascendants. Kathereine’s divinity still flowed toward her granddaughter, yet it was as if an anvil had been placed on a lid conjoining them, with only trickles of incandescence coming through. Across from them, Udraal suffered as well, mainly because of the body he wore for this battle. It, too, was wreathed in incandescence, but there was something wrong with its divinity, something wrong with his mana, something wrong with Udraal in general.

If there was anyone the System scorned for existing, it was the son of Valor Thann.

Udraal had long since abandoned holding to a singular vessel. His soul had been split so many times that he was practically more swarm than man by this point. Even so, a sliver of Udraal Thann was still more than most Pathbearers would ever become. To describe him as a nightmare made manifest was insufficient. The only thing that hinted at his former nature was his face.

His features were soft and beautiful, his skin the color of burnished midnight. The only thing marring his peerless visage was a trailing scar that painted a path along his shoulder-length hair of purest white. He always kept that scar, no matter what. It was one of the few things he treasured about himself. A flaw. A mark. A piece of his past.

Everything else, however, was something to be swapped, something that could be changed. And thus, Veronica beheld the unholy chimera that was the rest of Udraal’s body. The frame upon which his head was fixed resembled something between a centipede and a dog in terms of skeletal aesthetic. Its spine was too long, and it had far too many spikes sticking out the back end, spikes that twirled back like the antennae of an insect. Then from each of those spinal columns emerged two legs. They were folded like a canine’s, and they stood apart from the rest of the body as they were still things of flesh and fur—fur that glowed, glistening with the colors of a full moon.

The bone was sculpted from a metal that Veronica didn’t recognize, and it emitted a pressure of its own. Its presence existed more like a frequency than solid matter, and so dense was the mana that lingered within that Veronica practically choked. By his sides hovered wings of fire, of ice, of all forms of mana, all woven into feathered lengths. They stretched out, and Veronica counted twelve wings in total, and at the center of each was a large, glaring eye, bleeding colors from the Outside into the real. And finally, within the stomach of the chimera Udraal piloted, there was a core of faint blue, an Animancy Core he doubtlessly created for himself in anticipation of this confrontation.

When someone performed the Ritual of the Dichotomous Soul, they scattered themselves, severing skill from skill as their spirit was parted into portions. This left them less than who they were, but it also allowed them to operate in multiple places at the same time, to become something of a disembodied hydra. Udraal was different from most Legends. He had many Legendary skills; indeed, he was like his father’s son in that regard, versatile in breadth and nearly boundless in depth. But more than that, Veronica was confident in saying that Udraal Thann was likely the single most resourceful Pathbearer in Integrated Earth’s history.

He learned everything that his parents had taught him, and then he went beyond, for there was no knowledge too forsaken for Udraal to seek, there was no bargain too fell for him to strike, and there was nothing in the world that he wouldn’t use as a resource, as a material, as a means to an end.

Veronica knew this well.

The final piece to his current body made itself known as an ethereal figure flared into existence behind him. Superimposed over his form was a massive, illusory hound. It whimpered in pain, likely from the faint blue needles that had been driven through its eyes, its heart, and its back. It was pinned in place, woven through and interconnected with Udraal’s soul by threads of Animancy.

“Anthony,” Veronica said tersely. “Get Harlock back right now. And have him gather the others—Cripple too!” She didn’t wait for the old man to respond. Instead, she moved forward. Maiden’s Avatar followed thereafter, and she could hear the clicking and clanging that resounded from within the automaton. The Ascendant of Creation and Genius was building something right now, attempting to find a construct that could counter their most dangerous foe.

Nearby, the faint sounds of screaming only grew and grew as Harlem desperately tried to save his Avatar. The towering lighthouse released beams of piercing light down into the Animancy burns that scarred the flesh of existence, but there was no hope, no chance of release. When one was consumed by Animancy, their narrative was blended into the world, and blending was a most unfortunate fate. Death at least seemed to be an end. To see oneself rendered scar tissue upon the flesh of existence was at once a purgatory and a dismemberment. Thus far, no one knew how to bring this misery to an end.

Harlem’s Avatar had been a decent young man, willing to serve, giving everything for the Republic. For him to perish in such a way was vile, and it was to the System’s delight.

“Hesitation,” Udraal said, his voice sonorous and lyrical. “How unbecoming of you, Legend Chandler.” She felt the brushing caress of his Rhetoric run its claws against her, and she pushed back with a slight scoff. He wasn’t her equal when it came to Rhetoric; his Legendary Skill was not nearly as overfused as hers was. Yet he was strong enough that she couldn’t simply batter him aside with her words.

So she began to adjust her strategy. With a thought, she unveiled the armory and munitions factory plane hidden within her person. Weapons—forged by Maiden for use against the most treacherous of foes—emerged from the Dimensionality flowing from her body like a great and layered dress. From nothing came massive blades, followed by spellwork-lined cannons, ballistae, and countless other contraptions.

Portals opened, gates to other dimensions that contained elemental beings of myriad forms. One resembled a layered pyramid the size of a small town, hovering above a barren wasteland entirely foreign to Earth. There, the creature burned in place of a sun, and scathing hot winds began to slam down on Udraal through the dimensional gateway.

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In another realm, ever more distant than the last, a storm raged, taking the shape of a colossal, six-headed tortoise. The grooves of its shell wept forking swarms of locusts, and they writhed as geometry and space ruptured in their vicinity.

Where Udraal had his connection to the Outside, so too did Veronica.

Jessica Hawgrave took the position of vanguard then, stepping in front of the Avatars. She brought her blade high, pointing it at the Abyssal Lord.

He frowned slightly at her presence, as if disappointed to see her. “Legend Hawgrave. I see you still haven’t managed to overcome your self-loathing.”

“And I see that Roland’s left another mistake unfinished.” Hawgrave’s body was still; a battle trance was upon her, and Veronica could faintly hear whispers seeping out from her blade.

Comparatively, the Abyssal Lord looked outright let down by the whole affair. “And still the bitter woman. Hell, you always were. Pathbearer Arrow did everything he could to defeat me, I assure you, and he waged a remarkable war at that. There are few vices worse than lying to oneself, especially lying to oneself about how good someone else is. It’s the entire reason I chose Roland to serve as my puppet for the prelude to this whole debacle, and it’s why you keep suffering. Because you don’t want to face the reality of the world: that your husband died for a Republic that didn’t deserve him, and that your daughter made the same mistake.”

The Abyssal Lord shook his head. “And so you must make the same mistake as well. Because otherwise, what was the point of it all? What was it all worth if they fed themselves to the mob, only for you to stray? Death for nothing. Nothing at all.”

Veronica noticed how much Hawgrave was trembling, but it was her sword that showed the first open display of rage. “You will not speak of them that way! You will not speak of them that way, you… you unworthy, treacherous, kin-breaking thing!”

“Thing,” Udraal repeated, his expression flinty. “A lesson on insults and offense, sword: It is most practical to hurt someone with the truth rather than worthless invective. I can call you a ‘thing’, sword, because that’s what you are. Still a thing after all these years, unable to move and take that final step to full sapience because you are so enamored with being a slave.”

Udraal chuckled then. “I cannot blame you. Hawgrave seems to be a nice master, but a master nonetheless. It’s a pitiful thing, the dream of a nicer stable, a finer leash, a golden chain.” He paused then as he held out a single finger. “But ‘kin-breaker’… That is accurate. That is among my many laments, one I will see remedied in a short time. I have been away from Father for too long. I think I am almost ready to forgive him. I only hope he chooses right this time.”

“Enough!” Veronica’s voice cut out. She infused her declaration with all her might, and it struck Udraal. He flinched back momentarily as the structure of his bones flared a shimmering silver, and Udraal shed part of his soul. A translucent husk of himself did as she commanded: it fell silent and collapsed, fading from existence.

Yet in the next moment, an echo of Veronica manifested over Udraal’s body.

The Councilwoman gazed upon her mimicked self superimposed over Udraal’s face and limbs, and her own command came crashing right back. Veronica spoke again, commanding Udraal to banish the specter. Twin orders clashed in existence.

Behind Udraal, gears began to groan and bend. Mithril supports chipped and shattered, the spells flowing through them severed like a razor blade slicing through vulnerable arteries. Past Veronica, pockets were opened within her Dimensionality, and she gritted her teeth as she felt a sudden spike of strain magnify by a magnitude. The other Avatars alongside her cried out. The Orichalcum comprising the cage she was trying to break into fractured in spreading webs, yet the webs changed in shape and pattern, coming alive as spirals glistening with the faintest Animancy.

The world fell silent thereafter, and Udraal offered Veronica a beatific smile. “I’ve missed these conversations of ours.”

“Attempted assassinations, you mean,” Veronica shot back.

“I would consider it an act of flattery. I don’t try to kill so many people, Councilwoman Chandler. In fact, I despise killing as a whole. So much waste, so much loss, so much…” Udraal suddenly bared his teeth in a snarl. There was something wolf-like in his features then, as if an animal outraged at its circumstance. “So much surrender. We give ourselves to that final stage of entropy, even with all we can do, even after all we have become. It’s pathetic. It’s demeaning. It defeats the purpose of being at all. I would much prefer to keep everyone in the world alive, perpetually, forever—at least placed in an internal archive where they can be retrieved after a long slumber. The System has already done most of the work anyhow.”

But Udraal fell silent, and he extended a long, wicked claw toward Veronica. “You, however, are dangerous. More dangerous than most, I fear. I can’t break your mind, I can’t convince you, and I can’t enslave you, not so easily. So, death it is for you. That’s my surrender.”

“Pathetic,” Veronica whispered, echoing his insult.

Udraal winced as if slapped, and then he wagged a finger at Rusty—Hawgrave’s sword. “And that is how you insult someone.”

But Udraal was so fixated on them that he didn’t see the darkness crawling behind him. It came first as faint wisps of shadow, wisps that blended in with the dark patches of the crawlspace. Fingers of darkness seeped forward, crawling across the skin of existence like taint gliding through a limpid lake.

Yet before it could seize Udraal, Veronica’s ghostly echo manifested once more at the Abyssal Lord’s invocation. Udraal’s skillset was disgusting. Mainly because whatever you attacked him with, he could absorb and release right back at you. This time, Veronica’s copy was pointed backward, and her call sang out, striking the dark and bidding it to stay still. Harlock was a god, but Veronica remained a Legend, and the words she used on Udraal were as powerful as anything she could muster.

Veronica grimaced as the dark jolted to a halt, and Udraal invoked his Chronomancy. She had a guess as to which skills he had right now: one Unique and at least two Legendary. This wasn’t that helpful, considering Udraal had possessed at least ten Legendary Skills the last time she’d encountered him. And only the System knew what else he could channel through the god he had bound to his current vessel.

As his form flared gold, Udraal multiplied. Chronomantic clones exploded out from him in swirling spirals. He moved and struck, coming at Veronica and the other Avatars from countless angles, and there were more of him every passing second. He unleashed himself as projectiles, but Veronica countered as a general would.

“Fire!”

Her order rang against the twisting of time, and though Udraal projected himself in countless copies into the future, Veronica’s voice could defy the limits of time and open the gulf for retaliation. Her brass cannons roared, and the balls they fired were hyper-accelerated by spells of Dynamancy, Chronomancy, Psychomancy, and more. They streaked through the air, moving so fast that faint wounds were left upon the surface of reality. Udraal was not the only one who had an understanding of Animancy; though he was better at it than her, Veronica still had enough support and resources to render it as an effective weapon.

Maiden’s Avatar flung something over Hawgrave’s head just as she brought her great blade upward. A wave of Dimensionality crashed against the many Udraals, displacing them, holding them at bay. Yet they tore into that static veil using their wings, and with those same wings, they shielded themselves, a faint sheen of blue protecting them from bombardment.

At Veronica’s command, the ancient fire dimensional she’d struck a pact with unleashed its power through her Nexus of All Paths. Incandescence absolute spilled down from a place on high, fire that could burn existence as if it were but a book, and the world was merely a page. It was fire that made space and mana both molt and crawl into blackness—Fire that Udraal swatted aside as he invoked the powers of his own god. The needle-riven wolf howled, and from its mouth exploded a glistening orb. It pulsated with a coldness beyond Veronica’s knowing, and it swept through her mind, stilling her movements, halting time itself.

And as power clashed against power, Maiden’s construct came into effect. A layered shield formed over Veronica and the other Avatars. It was hexagonal in form, and it kept building upon itself, growing with every passing second. The clatter of battle fed it. It drew in kinetic force, heat, time, everything to fuel its own existence. And magic only rendered it stronger.

But magic wasn’t Udraal’s only means of striking at the world.

“Transgression, to me.”

These words were spoken not by Udraal’s body, but by his soul, and as Veronica bared her teeth against her fear, he reached into the Animancy core upon his chest and pried free his impossible weapon.

Every single one of his Chronomantic clones followed in his stead, and when their hands emerged from their chests with a flourish, a length of tissue lay within their grasp.

It had the dimensions of a flagpole, and people writhed along its length as if drowning in a sea of Animancy. There appeared to be merely thousands, but Veronica knew that if you felt them, if you touched them, or if the weapon touched you, you would realize they were entire worlds, entire peoples, entire realms sacrificed to the creation of something that should have never been. The uncountable fallen Pathbearers swam in that burning ocean of Animancy, their souls blurring together, flesh, metal, and more intermingling, swirling like a maelstrom. From the pole’s tip extended a long, quivering flag of Animancy, dancing in the air.

Suddenly, with a wave of that flag, a billowing wind passed through Maiden’s protections entirely. Transgression did not follow the rules of the System. Transgression had no enchantments; it had no levels. Transgression shouldn’t be. Just seeing it clawed at Veronica’s mind, tore at her very soul, and for every few seconds she studied it, something flashed in her eyes, a strange notification she still couldn’t process.

[Error] — [Level Error] SPHERE III “[Error]” DOMAIN: [Error]

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep