Hereafter
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BLAKE PUDDING - 2ND DRAFT - Book 2 - Chapter 8 - REINTERGRATION
🕑 Added 2023-10-21 01:29:16 +0000 UTCThere I was, ducking another of Vanya's wild swipes with her so-called magical weapon. Holy sword? Or is it a Holy-infused sword? Oh, the eternal debate! The only holy thing about it was the holy shit it sparked when it whooshed past my head. Vanya's a pro with that blade, but bless her, she's got this habit of getting a bit too enthusiastic. Every slash has her practically doing the splits! Well, that’s an exaggeration, but she does go all bow-legged.
And there! Like clockwork, her feet are practically in different time zones, and I’m seeing my golden opportunity: a direct, first-class delivery of my foot to her baby hole. Now, it's no secret-knockout kick to a fellow chick, but oh, the music of her oof! It's like Beethoven to my ears. Every. Single. Time.
How long have I been in this loop? Couldn't say. It's like déjà vu on steroids here. But, weirdly, I don’t hate it. It's just me, myself, I, Vanya, and the gang, caught in this dance that resets with every killing blow—all of theirs or mine. There's a rhythm to it, you know? And sure, we might be at it till the end of time, but I can't help grinning through the sweat, blood, and goo.
Oh—and get this, I’ve been improving my game, finally snagging more wins than losses. Happy days, indeed!
Because, between you, me, and I? We’re having the time of my life giving these goblin kid murderers the runaround they deserve. I mean, it’s not like I really care for the kid or anything. I’m just offended that these bastards killed him before I could…yeah, that’s it. What? Don’t judge me!
“…Sure.”
“Oh, shut up, Dream. By the way, that’s a stupid name.”
“I rather like it.”
“We would...”
So, here’s the skinny: in this endless cycle of bloodbaths and bliss, I haven’t so much as grazed the gnome. Not a single poke. And it's not out of some sentimental Earthling solidarity crap, nope; it's just that Nightmare and Dream, my dynamic me, are itching to pepper him with a few choice queries. But here's the kicker: whenever I'm in the vicinity of these other asshats, my 'unleash inner psycho-Karen' button doesn’t just get pushed; it gets body-slammed. I dive headfirst into a kill-fest.
Yeah—I know, right? The heart wants what it wants. Or in our case… Me. Like. Entrails.
And, as a result, here I am, ensnared in this time warp debacle. It's like an infinite rerun of Elm Street, and guess who's donning Freddy’s fedora? Spoiler alert: it's us. And the crowd’s verdict? We’re killing it. Literally. Oh, and a little side note: I may or may not have reshaped some of our pudding into that iconic hat. What? Knock it off with those judgy eyes!
Electricity thrummed through my pudding, a live wire of anticipation, as my fist reeled back, black tar-like skin morphing and stretching into sinuous tentacles. I could almost taste the victory once again—a dark, intoxicating flavor—as I aimed straight for Vanya's open scream. Her battle cry, raw and seething with fury, echoed in my ears, a discordant symphony spurred by the crumpled forms of her fallen comrades strewn about. She was always the final boss fight, stubbornly defiant, amidst the ruins of her party’s corpses.
But then, in the space of a heartbeat—she wasn't.
Reality hiccupped. My tentacles cleaved through nothing but thick, churning fog as if I had plunged into a nebulous sea. Shadows coiled and retreated in the gray, a pantomime of creatures lurking just out of sight. I pirouetted, disoriented, tendrils lashing out at the concealing murk, seeking something, anything, solid.
Gradually, the fog whispered away like receding tides, revealing a tableau etched in sandstone and marble. Warm, flickering torchlight kissed the surfaces, throwing half the room into a dance of shadows. The scattered tables, the hearth, the lingering scent of spilt ale and whispered secrets—an eerie familiarity tugged at my consciousness.
The sight arrested me—the billboard, a mosaic of parchment and ink, each leaf a testament to quests laid bare and glory just beyond the grasp. It stood, immutable, at the heart of the adventurers' guild. A shiver, unbidden, slithered down the ridges of our gelatinous spine, a silent harbinger weaving through the crevices of our essence. It whispered of a reality askew, a dawning comprehension that filtered through the murk of our consciousness like the hesitant rays of a sullen sunrise.
But was it truly the herald of a new day? Or was it the death knell of my ceaseless reverie—a dream, my dream, sweet as the darkest sin? I reveled in the thought, letting it twist and pirouette in the hollows of my—our mind. For if this was my dream, then it was my nightmare, a delicious, shadow-laden terror, for everyone else who dared tread these shifting sands beyond the walls of the kingdom of which I shall reign.
Man, all this highbrow philosophizing is doing my head in, considering I'm barely keeping up with the what-the-hell of everything. Shaking off the mental gymnastics, I did a double-take around the adventurers' guild. The place was dead quiet—hold up, scratch that! Tucked away in a shadowy nook was a singular presence…
There, in the dim, was this kid in pink. Was she smirking or scowling? Hard to tell, but her face was doing...something. The real showstoppers, though, were where her eyes should've been—two swirling abysses. Not like empty sockets, but like entire galactic blackholes were in there, greedily hoarding all the light.
A shiver ran from my tiptoes and up to my gooey skull as I edged closer. Odd. I'd figured I was out of shivers, but this girl sparked a frisson of fear I thought I'd lost. Still, it didn't glue my feet to the floor. Nope, I plopped down across from the runt, uninvited. Sure, I clammed up, not offering a single word or greeting. Rude? Maybe. But then again, I have never been fond of stalkers. Instead, I stared right back at the girl with my arms crossed and a raised eyebrow.
Tension hung in the air between us, palpable, before she cut through it. "I'm on the fence about whether to end you or not."
I couldn’t help but smirk. “Careful, I can be a real nightmare when provoked.”
That got a genuine laugh out of her, surprising us both. “Sweetie, if I wanted you gone,” she grinned, all teeth, “you'd be dust before you even noticed you were falling. Believe that.”
Her threat was a bit unsettling, because I was certain she could back it up, but the twinkle in her eye was downright infectious. I had to admit, I was kind of getting a kick out of her.
“So, who are you supposed to be?” I asked, more intrigued than I’d like to admit.
She tapped her chin, feigning thoughtfulness, all the while studying me with those abyssal eyes. “I’ve had countless names,” she began, pausing for effect, her gaze locking onto mine. Her grin widened, a streak of darkness beneath the child-like facade, “But, you... you can call me Death.”
The weight of her identity seemed to linger, a foreboding shadow in the empty guild hall. But I wasn’t about to let her see me sweat.
“Neat,” I grinned, the casual shrug of my shoulders defying the gravity of her introduction. “So, what's up? Why are you slumming it with the likes of me, Death?”
For a moment, she just stared, and I could swear even an eternal being was capable of a double-take. My nonchalance had thrown her, derailed the intimidation train she was likely used to conducting.
“Good grief,” she mumbled to herself, “I must’ve been asleep for far too long if I’m neither striking terror nor inspiring groveling worship.”
“Oh, it’s not you,” I assured her with a casual wave, the corner of my mouth turning up. “I had the Teletubbies as childhood staples, so my shock threshold is pretty sky-high.”
She blinked, the confusion marring her features. “Tele-what?”
“Picture this: creatures, technicolor nightmares really, with weird symbols on their heads and TVs for stomachs. They were my 'normal',” I explained, air-quoting the last word, my smile morphing into a full-fledged grin at the absurdity.
“TV?” Death echoed, perplexity dancing in her void-like eyes. “You were exposed to these...monsters...as a child?” The question seeping out of her lips as if she was tasting something particularly foul.
“Not ‘Elmo exposed,’” I clarified, a dramatic shudder passing through me for emphasis. “But yeah, they were a staple of my childhood. Forced to watch 'em.”
“That sounds...disturbing,” she conceded, her voice a melody of concern and confusion.
I nodded solemnly, leaning in as if sharing a grave secret. “Yeah. It’s probably why I turned out the way I did,” I nodded in recognizing where I had gone wrong. “But enough about the scars of my childhood television trauma. What brings you to my neck of the woods, Death?” I quipped, deftly steering us away from my own warped origins story.
“You’re such a lair. You made all that shit up!”
“Oh, shut up Nightmare!”
“Neck of the woods?” Death echoed, her brows knitting together in a delightful puzzle of confusion. I couldn’t help the small, self-satisfied smile that tugged at my lips. Watching an embodiment of the end times befuddled by mundane idioms? Priceless. “You... you are a peculiar creature,” she declared, a hint of wonder seeping into her tone. “And an unfortunate manipulation, at that. A Titan's soul in an Eldritch vessel,” her tone dropping as if saddened by the revelation.
“Hold up, rewind,” I interjected, making a reverse motion with my hands. “Eldritch, sure. I mean, look at this delightful black gooey mess,” I gestured flamboyantly down at my gorgeous body, sure a lot of my silk shell was missing after being yanked here mid-battle, revealing most of my nightmarish tar-like form. “But Titan? As in the old-school, mountain-sized Greek mythology bigwigs?” I asked, genuine curiosity piquing my tone.
The bewilderment etched on Death's visage would have been downright hilarious if she wasn't, you know, the ender of all things. Scratch that—it was still funny. "I'm unfamiliar with your Greek tales, but Titans? Their ability to manipulate mana transcends any mountains," she asserted, the confusion in her tone giving way to a touch of awe, still seemingly thrown by the casual banter. “They were the cherished offspring of my dearest. But what baffles me is how your soul got tangled up in that... vile body?”
“Dearest?” Dream repeated.
“Shush, I’ve got a sassier comeback brewing!”
We feigned outrage, placing a hand over where my heart would be. "Hey, no need to body-shame!" My tone was drenched in sarcasm, but it soared right over her child-like head. "But if you must know, I blame it all on Circe. Honestly, she’s at the core of most of my life’s problems. Shattered my soul, booted me out of the system—the whole shebang."
“And that’s your sassier comeback?”
“Let’s see you do better,” Nightmare grumbled into our consciousness.
"Circe?" Death latched onto the name.
"Yep, the one and only pain in the ass Primordial of Magic," I confirmed with a dismissive hand wave, as if she were yesterday’s news. "Total bitch," I added with a conspiratorial lean, ensuring my opinion wasn't lost in translation.
“So that’s what she’s calling herself now,” Death murmured, her voice a whisper in the wind, her pitch-black eyes losing focus as if gazing into some invisible past. “She’s the one who fractured your soul,” she mused aloud, not exactly asking, more reaffirming a narrative she pieced together in her mind. “And the system... I was unaware Magic had any interest in its use, or that it even remained intact after the war,” she continued, her words drifting off, her attention ensnared by thoughts that seemed to resonate with echoes of a time I couldn't begin to comprehend. I was there, right in front of her, but in that moment, I felt like little more than a whisper against the scale of her contemplations.
Her finger tapping against her lower lip created a rhythmic sound against the backdrop to her hushed mumbling. "Stealing words... to sync with a summoned race's mana, she'd triangulate origin worlds for convergence. Intriguing, but Titans don't generate mana; they wield it. Unless... she leveraged their intrinsic mana manipulation to fine-tune the system. Still, the complexity... she'd require a multitude of Titan souls across eons in this dimension for precise calibration. They'd have to weave mana with and without the system to get an accurate synch… That would take forever. But wait! An Eldritch vessel could expedite it! But... that solves calibration, there's more to it. Why shatter the girl’s soul then? A cover? But why? Wait—Wait—Wait. If she's found the Titans, that means she's also found—.”
“What are you babbling about?” I cut in, unable to follow her mental gymnastics any longer. The petite girl had shifted from daunting to bizarrely charming with her lost-in-thought ramblings. “And what’s with all this about Titans?” I pressed, hoping to steer her back to a conversation I could navigate.
"That'd be you," she said, her voice drenched in the sort of matter-of-fact tone used when pointing out the sky was up. Then her eyes lifted, not just to the ceiling but seemingly through it, to worlds beyond. “A convergence is nearing completion... Oh, that's a nasty place. Brace yourself for ceaseless wars spanning generations with that one. No, you're not from there. Ah, here we go! Magic has started a second convergence. Sadly, it's too soon for me to see into it. Still, I should be able to sense her presence. Yet, it’s...not there. Why is it not there? I can feel her traces, but it should be stronger,” Death's voice dwindled to a whisper, and my heart clenched tight seeing a lone tear etch a trail down her cheek, a silent testament to an anguish I couldn't fathom.
"Ugh, I'm so confused. I don't even know my 'where' or my 'why' here, let alone why mother dearest tossed both of me into this place," I moaned, running my hands through my tendrils—we mean, hair. "And the cherry on this fantastic mess? I'm moons, perhaps worlds away from my soulmate," I exhaled, the longing for Aurelia an ache in our chest.
"Mother?" Death queried, the word rolling around in her mouth like a foreign concept, her confusion evident but fleeting. Recognition dawned swiftly. "Which of our children chose to intertwine their essence with yours during your... reconstruction?"
"The Crone, Goddess of Dreams and Nightmares," I responded, surprised by the solemnity in my own voice.
"You’re Duskara’s child, then," she reflected, not a question but a confirmation to herself. Her tone shifted, the solemnity giving way to a peculiar bluntness. “Let’s pivot this conversation,” she proposed, then without missing a beat, added, “are you an idiot?”
“What the hell?” I stammered, taken aback.
"Your 'mother' didn’t just toss you here without purpose. And that spirit, it’s been tailing you this entire time, yet for over a year, you've chosen to overlook its constant presence? Instead, you've been embroiled in a relentless nightmare within the dreamscape! So, I repeat, are you an idiot?”
"She absolutely is," Dream interjected without hesitation. “Oh, do be quiet,” Nightmare countered impulsively through our shared lips, casting our sanity in questionable light before Death's unwavering gaze. “Hold on, did you just refer to our mother as your child? Does that make you... are you, my grandmother?" The question emerged harmoniously from us, our split awareness meshing back into the singular confusion that was me... or us? Yeah, I know, I’m a mental clusterfuck of confusion.
"Hmm," the little girl mused, her head tilting, a contemplative look settling over her child-like features, "I suppose it does. Oh, and another thing," she added, as nonchalantly as if she were discussing the weather, "if you'd like, I can knit your fragmented two souls back into one."
Her offhand offer sent a jolt through our shared consciousness, catching both aspects of my being off guard. The simplicity with which she proposed such a profound alteration was both baffling and oddly reassuring. It was as if she had just offered to fix a minor tear in a garment, yet she was talking about the essence of my very existence.
Drawing in a deep breath, which felt like it filled both of us, we replied in unison, a gentle smile spreading across our face, “Nah, we’re good for now.” I shrugged, “What can we say, I love conflict.”
“Yeah, she’s insufferable like that,” Dream piped up with an eye roll so pronounced I could feel it. “Will you ever shut it?” Nightmare snapped back, the words acidic even as they echoed in our shared consciousness.
“I hate you.”
“We’ve always hated ourself. What’s new?”
“That’s your choice,” Death responded, shaking her head with a mix of exasperation and a smile of amusement. “Alright then, just to reiterate, you're deep inside the Realm of Dreams. It’s a common destination for dreamers and wandering spirits alike,” she explained, her tone suggesting this was common knowledge. “My guess is your mother sent you here to recruit a spirit’s assistance. And with this phylactery,” she continued, suddenly brandishing the orb that housed Olin’s soul—I couldn’t fathom when she’d managed to take it from me, “you have the means to take them back to the waking with you, provided you can persuade him to join. However, the soul already inside the phylactery will have to stay here with me. Is that a sacrifice you’re prepared to make—?”
“Yeah, sure,” I fired back instantaneously, without an ounce of hesitation. I mean, come on, Olin was a total dick!
Death let out a sigh, the sound carrying a weight that seemed too heavy for her young frame. "I didn’t expect you to sail through my test quite so...indifferently," she admitted, her breath deep as if bracing herself. "Alright, I’ll offer you a second phylactery."
My heart deflated a smidge. "Wait, so I’ve still got to lug Olin back with me?" My tone soured, the disappointment akin to expecting a jackpot and getting a bag of beans.
“Well, if he’s such a pain, I certainly don’t fancy him hanging around here,” she quipped, a smirk playing on her lips.
“Fine,” I grumbled, my eyes narrowing slyly as I noted the once-present phylactery had now vanished.
“Regarding the system, I can reconnect you, if that's what you want,” she offered casually, as if she were talking about resetting a router. “It'll help you pick up new magic, but beyond that, it’s kind of a dud for your sort,” she continued, her voice devoid of judgment.
Internally, both Nightmare and Dream didn’t bother with a conference – it was a resounding, “YES!”
“Huh, didn’t peg you for the enthusiastic type,” Death remarked, a hint of surprise betraying her cool demeanor. “I’ll need to tinker with the settings so Magic can’t boot you again, but that’s child’s play. Just don’t hold your breath for regaining everything you lost when she ousted you,” she cautioned, her voice a mix of stern and playful.
My spirit slumped, a tad crestfallen. There were some nifty skills and spells I hadn’t yet learned to cast on my own, many others I hadn’t even had the chance to unlock. But before I could whine in front of Death, a system notification finally appeared before me.
SYSTEM NOTIFICATION
COMENCING REINTERGRATION
ANALYZING INTERGRATION
ERROR DETECTED
RECALLIBRATING INTITATED
FILE CORRUTPTION DETECTED
"What the hell?" I murmured, bafflement seeping into my tone just as a fresh barrage of notifications burst into view before my eyes.
NOTICE
Following information has been corrupted:
Race
Class
Titles
Racial Skills
Spells
Abilities
Unique
Selectable
USER: DEATH
COMMAND AUTHORIZATION GRANTED
NEW RACE ACCEPTED
NEW CLASS ACCEPTED
NEW TITLES ACCEPTED
NEW RACIAL SKILLS ACCEPTED
NEW ABILITIES ACCEPTED
NEW UNIQUE SKILLS ACCPETED
NEW SELECTABLE OPTION ACCEPTED
RACE UNLOCKED
Eldritch Pudding
CLASS UNLOCKED
Phantasm
RACIAL SKILLS UNLOCKED
[Devourer]
[Disintegration]
TITLE UNLOCKED
Descendant of the End
TITLE UNLOCKED
Scion of Dreams and Nightmares
SPELLS UNLOCKED
[Phantasmal Dominion]
[Phantasmal Mist]
ABILITIES UNLOCKED
[Phantasmal Surge]
[Web of Whispers]
UNIQUE UNLOCKED
[Birthright]
[Sovereign Heiress]
SELECTABLE UNLOCKED
[Phantasmal]
"W-What the hell?" I stammered out once again, my confusion mounting. Regaining a semblance of control, I raised my voice, commanding, “Status!”
Name: Blake
Race: Eldritch Pudding
Class: Phantasm
Titles
Descendant of the End
Scion of Dreams and Nightmares
Racial Skills
[Devourer]
[Disintegration]
Spells
[Phantasmal Dominion]
[Phantasmal Mist]
Abilities
[Phantasmal Surge]
[Web of Whispers]
Vulnerabilities
[Fire]
[Holy]
Immunities
[Acid]
[Charm]
[Darkness]
[Disease]
[Poison]
[Sleep]
Unique
[Birthright]
[Sovereign Heiress]
Selectable
[Phantasmal]
My entire interface had morphed, leaving me utterly flabbergasted, but amidst the whirlwind of changes, one particular absence set off alarm bells in my head. "Umm, where's my level?" I inquired, a tinge of apprehension lacing my words.
"What? Oh, that," Death responded nonchalantly, as if she were discussing something as mundane as misplaced socks. "It's an arbitrary figure for someone like you. If you were solely dependent on your own mana, then it might have some significance. So, I chucked it," she explained, her tone suggesting this was a minor detail.
"How am I supposed to unlock new skills and spells without leveling up?" I pressed, anxiety creeping into my tone.
"Use your Racial Skill, Devourer obviously," she giggled, the sound somewhat disconcerting given the gravity of our conversation. I darted a glance at my skill set, fingers twitching with the urge to delve into each one right away, but Death halted me with a stern look. "Don't start poking around in there just yet. I'm frankly growing weary of this place. Could you at least wait until after I've departed?" she chided, her patience wearing thin.
"Fine," I grumbled, deflating slightly. "But I've lost so many of my previous skills," I couldn't help but moan.
"I could offer you a few more, but truly, you've already got a substantial arsenal to kickstart your learning," the little girl retorted, her voice striking a balance between sternness and coddling, akin to a parent reasoning with a sulky child. I couldn't resist rolling my eyes at her demeanor.
"Now, what else before I depart?" she mused, ticking off points on her fingers. "Locate the spirit, convince it to accompany you. Ah, and steer clear of getting ensnared in any dream or nightmare; you might end up trapped in an endless loop. Oh, and regarding that Dungeon Core nestled within you? I'd suggest giving it away posthaste."
"Wait, what? Why?" Panic edged my voice, but she seemed oblivious to my burgeoning alarm.
"If you ever have a change of heart about the offer to stitch your soul back together," Death's voice was casual, almost an afterthought, "you'll know where to find me."
In the next heartbeat, she was no more. No grand exit, no swirl of cloak or dramatic gust of wind—she simply ceased to be, her form dissolving into the air as if she were never more than a wisp of smoke. Where she sat, the world seemed to pause for a fraction of a second, the air itself holding its breath.
But then, life rushed back into the void her departure left, filling it with a cacophony of sound and movement. The guild hall, quiet a moment before, burst into unbridled vitality. Laughter cascaded from one corner, where a group of adventurers shared some private jest; the clink of tankards and the low hum of dozens of conversations melded into a lively symphony. Here and there, the gleam of steel as a weapon was carelessly brandished in a storyteller's enthusiasm, the flicker of candlelight catching on a well-worn hilt, the shuffle of booted feet as patrons sidled up to the bar.
The departure of Death was akin to lifting a veil, the formerly hushed hall erupting into a tapestry of motion and vitality, each adventurer a vivacious thread in a lively weave that rendered me an outsider on a solitary isle. A plethora of mysteries still swirled unanswered in my mind, yearnings unquenched for further explanations she had taken with her, leaving a residue of disappointment in the void of her absence.
"Oi, ye ready tae make a move, Lass?" the dwarf woman's voice cut through the guild hall, her sudden presence catchin' me off guard. "We've a drake awaitin' its death, we do."
