83. Harken!
[Kassius V, Highguard Sector]
It sat in magma at the centre of a volcano, on a planet with an atmospheric density akin to molten lead, under a pulsar that periodically dosed the entire planet unprotected by a magnetic field with lethal radiation.
The magma was, in fact, molten diamond rather than a any sort of standard igneous rock. Buried deep at the bottom of the caldera, it sat, buffeted by currents from all sides.
A cube of indistinct substance, dark coloured and smooth. For what purpose it lay there, none could possibly guess. Capital-grade battlesteel would melt and evaporate in seconds in the same condition, yet that unknown material was unscathed. A dark-grey that was almost black, it seemed like a hole in the world, surrounded by the glowing orange-red of molten magma.
After an unknown period of time, a change occurred. On one of the faces of the cube, a crack appeared.
Not from the pressure, nor the heat, but rather from within. A blindingly bright light emerged from that crack and by the time it faded, the cube had disappeared. Bursting out from the magma, a charred figure emerged gasping.
Somehow swimming to the short of the lake of molten diamond, under enough radiation to literally melt tungsten and enough pressure to keep it solid, he arrived at the shore.
The figure was not unscathed, hardly more than a charred corpse. Yet, unmistakeably, it was alive. Cracking his eyes open, witnessing the hellish realm he found himself, a wrathful presence descended.
Its mouth split open like a scab, a hoarse voice like the harsh winds of the Styx declaring its fury unto the world.
Only a single word, packed with sheer densities of hatred.
"...Captain...!"
***
[Unitopia, Eastern Continent]
Before the nameless soldier, the ant, was facing a behemoth of the dark night, he was asleep, embraced by unconsciousness after his previous, harrowing encounter. After some time, he stirred in his blackness, breaking free from the hold of nightmare, tearing his way back into the land of the living. He blinked his eyes rapidly, unaccustomed to the brightness of the day.
...What happened...?
His thoughts were slower to coalesce, slowly reforming as the dregs of somnolence drained away into the void.
Oh yeah...that.
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Flashes of his fight against that thing, that hexagonal prism, ran through his mind. The way he had channeled the resentful energy suffusing him into his hands, it burning bright like a torch, shattering the chains of metal swung at him.
The way he had, right at the end-
He squinted, a sharp pain running through his mind.
What was it? What happened at the end?
The last thing he could remember was the bright flash, a wave of pressure that threatened to unravel his very Soul. And the pillar that kept it upright. The central axis of his very being, this strange new abomination that he had become.
My Oath. It kept me...sane? Maybe not the right word. Stable? That wave would have, should have, unravelled me entirely. But then why would that monster not have done it earlier? And then after leaving me in such a state, it vanished disappeared?
Maybe it's scared of me?
He grinned at the thought of having frightened a strange, eldritch abomination of the night.
And then I guess I was pulled back into my own body. I suppose we answered at least one question of what happens when my Soul get's too damaged: I simply get pulled back by the tether. Though there still isn't any indication of the limits, how far I can go, how much damage I can take.
More than that, how long was I out for?
He clenched his hands, testing, finding it suffused with so much of that resentful energy he almost did a double take. At the rate it had been going on for, those spectral whispers assaulting his ears with their vengeful mutterings, for this much energy to accumulate would take...
I mean uhhh...it's kind of hard to quantify without any sort of measuring unit, you know? I'd guess somewhere between a fair bit and a long time. Well, it's not like it even matters.
Once again, the solitude he found himself in presented itself unwanted. What does it matter if he stays here for a day or a week or a month? Nobody is looking, no-one cares. Well, they might remember for a bit, but they would move on fairly quick. And once the memory fades, what even remains? Nothingness. A life that never existed. A meaningless presence. You don't matter. Nothing you do matters. Die. Kill yourself. Kill yourself.
: : KILL YOURSELF : :
The nameless soldier raised his only hand, pointing through the corpses above him, towards the blue sun blazing up above. Yet his gaze pierced past its pitiful pall. There, in the void, the shrieking laughter of a million-million hateful presences assaulted him. They told him of his worthlessness, his insignificance. They mocked and laughed and jeered.
"What does it matter?"
His voice was hoarse and small, weak like a sputtering candle.
"Who decides what matters or not? You?"
He added to their piercing cackle with his own incredulous version.
"You who sit on rotting thrones? Each of us will return to the dust we came from, meaning can only arise from the purpose we grant ourselves. I have chosen the grandest purpose of all."
He reached into his Soul, readying it to burst free from his body, re-appearing above the ground in spectral form and exclaiming to the unobstructed, claustrophobic sky.
"I will tear you down! I will show you what it means to be mocked!"
A flare of something flowed from his Oath, that strange barely understood thing that held him together, as if to augment his words. The intrusive, implanted thoughts of his own worthlessness and insignificance were burned away by the purifying light of his purpose.
Every man, woman and child is stumbling through the void of life blindfolded. He pitied those without purpose, wandering aimlessly. His spear was pointed firmly, unhesitatingly, brutally at the heavens that mocked.
He tasted a sharp tang of amusement, as if to say 'let him try.'
A mad grin split apart his face. They would come to eat those words, and choke on their blood while doing so.