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Chapter 37: The Boundless Epigon
It was really twisted. No, maybe the angel itself was twisted. Not only had it framed him for an accident it had orchestrated, but it had also shackled him with the responsibility of attaining the impossible. The worst part was that he didn't even fully understand what his fate was supposed to be. It just felt weird, profoundly wrong, that his afterlife had attracted the attention of an entity like this Angel of Miracles, and others beyond it. Deep down, he knew it wasn't for a nice reason. This odyssey for power wasn't truly about battling the angel whose statue loomed before him; it was about battling his own fate. And in a bizarre, counter-intuitive way, the angel was helping him. But why help him while still shackling him?
His head spun. That damn, towering Soul Tree had been the source of his might and his nightmares. And now, it turned out it was the "divine gift" of this so-called revered being. Well, he supposed he revered it now; his life was quite literally at stake. But pawn or not, the angel had given him a chance to revert whatever grim future awaited him, all thanks to what he could only assume was a divine fetish for orchestrating miracles. He hoped the cynical thought didn't escape his mouth. He knew exactly what to expect if it did, and the prospect was grim.
Suddenly, he felt it. The slithering, spectral pressure that had been coiled around his very essence began to dissipate. It was like being released from a cold, invisible grip that had held him not just physically, but spiritually. He glanced down, his eyes widening as he caught the final glimpse of the ethereal chains that bound him. They didn't break or fall away; they dissolved into motes of fading light, rewritten out of existence by a power he couldn't comprehend.
Relief, sharp and potent, surged through him, followed by a wave of dizzying joy. He was free. He really was free.
With a grunt, he heaved himself up, his muscles protesting after an eternity of forced stillness. He rubbed his wrists, the phantom memory of the chains still tingling on his skin. He took a deep, shuddering breath, filling lungs that he hadn't been sure were even real. The air tasted of nothing, of static and starlight. His legs creaked and groaned as he found his footing, the simple act of standing a monumental victory. He took a tentative step, then another, but his movements caused no ripples on the impossibly still, dark sea around him, a bizarre spectacle he had grown accustomed to.
Yet, the colossal pressure from above remained, a weight upon his soul that forced his spirit into a posture of reverence. So, he was free to move, but not free to leave. The question echoed in his mind: how was he supposed to get out of here?
His eyes wandered across the endless, star-flecked expanse of the black sea. The thought of simply walking away was instantly snuffed out. Man, he would really appreciate a ride. A part of him, the part that hadn't been completely beaten down, wished the colossal statue would be kind enough to lend one. Maybe he could just ask, if he wasn't immediately annihilated for his audacity.
"This is the Nexus between Life and Death," a voice bellowed from the heavens above, its timbre ancient and profound, rattling the very fabric of the aurora-lit sky yet leaving the placid sea untouched. "The Boundary between Being and Unbeing. The Empty. There is no place to go."
The voice was accompanied by a cold, sinking realization. Man, he really was dead. So, how does one leave the nexus between life and death? It became certain then; the statue, the towering angelic effigy, had brought him here. Therefore, only it could take him out. In a nutshell, that terrifying piece of divine sculpture was his ride out of this weirdly beautiful vacation spot from hell.
He facepalmed internally. As if his life, or death, couldn't get any worse. But the voice cut into his thoughts once more.
"I SHALL bring thee back," it thundered, the sound leaning into a tone of grave inquisition. "But first, does thee know how then thou would survive against the Colossal Corpse Condemnation? You mortals call it through its epithet: The Reaper of Dread. It was the cause of thine death. Should you return, how then will thee avoid a similar fate?"
Oh, that. That was a rather significant other thing. Going back meant waking up to the very nightmare that had so efficiently sealed his end. Based on what the angel had just revealed, the terror's identity was now clear.
Epithet: The Reaper of Dread. Sacred Identity:The Colossal Corpse Condemnation.
It was still a conjecture, but it made sense. That thing could be the one manipulating all those corpses, like a master puppeteer. Given its sacred identity, how was he, a mere mortal, supposed to defeat something not only colossal and possessing enough abysmal force to kill him in one hit, but also a commander of the dead? And how in hell had the colossal Soul Tree been able to create such a monstrosity within its illusion? That bastard plant really had gone all out. And so had this angel. He was trading a trip to hell for a ride to an even greater hell. Him, killing the Condemned? That would have to be some sort of miracle.
"It seems as though thee has not fully grasped the complexity of thine situation," the voice intoned, its grandeur underscoring his ignorance. "What encircles thee are Souls."
As the words echoed, he became aware of them. Not ahead, but behind him, surrounding him in a perfect, silent orbit. The fifty-one glowing orbs he had known before, each one a vessel of a soul whose memories he had once brushed against. They circled him now not like weapons, but like halos, one after another. They did not blaze with fierce energy, but radiated a gentle, faint sense of calm, their collective light a soft, reassuring pressure against the oppressive grandeur of the void. His mind beheld the sight with pure awe for a fleeting moment before the practical question slammed back into place. How in the world were they supposed to help him? This wasn't a puzzle he could formulate an answer for on the spot.
And time was a luxury he was sure the Colossal Corpse Condemnation wouldn't grant him. He remembered seeing it approach, a mountain of death and shadow, right before his eyelids had shut for what he thought was the last time. He was even hoping his body hadn't been chewed up or mawed by it already. Man, not his perfect body...
"Thou knowest the Sacred Identity of such a foe," the voice continued, as if reading his despair. "Then thou canst defeat it. The Church of the Angel of Miracles shall shroud thee from its sight, for as long as thee wants. It is the will of the Lord. He shall prepare two Divine Relics before you, present at the Altar of the Holy Cathedral of the Lord. That shall be the last aid you receive, O' Nameless One. The odyssey is yours to conquer..
The voice thundered with finality, each word carrying the weight of divine order and unbreakable law. The aura it exuded was one of absolute, unquestionable power.
He wanted to mutter a thanks. First, a secure spot to crash in for as many nights as he needed, and two so-called divine relics to aid his impossible odyssey. Man, compared to the Soul Tree's vicious games, this angel was a lot more generous. Though he knew he was just a pawn being properly maintained, so long as it meant he survived, he didn't care. And so long as it meant he got a chance to kick the ass of that terrifying fiend that had turned his organs to pulp, he was in. He could still feel the phantom sensation of his insides being smote.
"You shall now return," the voice bellowed, its tone somehow friendlier, though the undercurrent of absolute authority remained. "Do well to resist the clutches of death, for thou shall not return a second time. Do not gamble with thy fate."
Man, he was almost going to miss the statue. Almost.
"Prove thyself worthy of the title of Boundless. But for now... Begone, Epigon."
The command was absolute. And in response, the entirety of his reality shattered.
It didn't fade or melt away. It broke like a pane of divine glass, a million fractures spider-webbing across the black sea, the aurora sky, and the very air he breathed. The world dissolved into a brilliant, chaotic mosaic of fragments, each piece reflecting a shard of the realm before winking out of existence, fading into silent, cosmic dust. It was a spectacle of terrifying grandeur, the unmaking of a universe meant solely for him. The silent, calming orbs that had encircled him flared once, a unified, soft pulse of light, and then they too were gone, their presence vanishing along with the Nexus.
Then, there was only silence and solid ground beneath his feet.
He stood in a cathedral. It was immense, its vaulted ceilings lost in shadowy heights. The air was cool and smelled of old stone, polished wood, and a faint, ozone-like scent of sanctity. To his sides, long rows of dark, intricately carved wooden pews stretched towards the far end of the hall, empty and silent like the ribs of a slumbering leviathan. The light source was ethereal; the pale, silver-white light of a full moon seeped through enormous stained-glass windows, each one a masterwork depicting the Angel of Miracles in various poses of glory and power, its form hauntingly familiar. The moonlight painted slanted columns of luminescence across the stone floor, illuminating motes of dust dancing in a slow, sacred waltz. At the far end, a simple stone altar stood, stark and waiting under the largest window of all.
He looked down at himself, his hands patting his chest, his arms, his legs. No injuries. No broken ribs, no pulverized organs. Everything was intact, in perfect, working condition. He flexed his fingers, marveling at the seamless knuckles, then made a fist, feeling the familiar, welcome strength coiling in his forearm muscles. He rolled his shoulders, the motion smooth and unhindered, and took an experimental deep breath that filled his whole, undamaged chest. He was whole. He was back.
A slow, defiant smirk spread across his face. So, he was back from the dead. His trip to the Empty felt more like a bizarre, stressful vacation. But vacation was over.
It was time to get to work....