Man, I was utterly spent, but I couldn't let myself drop. I was gripping that black sword, feeling its raw, dark energy vibrating under my fingers like a live wire. The whole tower was wrecked, but my mind was laser-focused, completely disconnected from the noise. I was operating purely on adrenaline and the terrifying knowledge I'd spent the last few minutes confirming.
I'm a guy who deals in facts. Cold, hard, calculated facts. That's what kept alive as a mage, and honestly, it's the only reason I haven't totally lost it in this weird new life. But lately, the facts just stopped checking out. The reincarnation story—the whole 'second chance' thing—felt like a flimsy cover story now. It was too easy, too tidy for the cosmic chaos I was knee-deep in. I kept trying to fit my life into that simple box, but the lid wouldn't close.
The white hair, Gluttony's terrifying power, the bizarre mories I snatched from that crushed Icarus fragnt... they all scread one thing. I wasn't just reborn. I was the result of a massive, cosmic crash. My dead human soul fused with sothing primal. Sothing that left the na Arkadius carved into my very core. Every ti I thought it, my fragnted mind didn't just access a mory; it experienced a visceral recognition, like seeing your own face after years of amnesia. It was my true, original title.
Greed, Gluttony, all those guys, they're the Arkdieu—fractured bits of so supre being. If they're just fragnts, then the only logical answer is that I'm the nexus. Not a random body they possessed, but the core where all these pieces are supposed to reassemble. It's a bleak thought, really. It ans my life isn't mine; it's just a required step in so ancient, predetermined plan by the Primordial or whatever force is running the show. I wasn't fighting for my life; I was fighting to exist as an independent consciousness within a collapsing, reassembling god-project. I was a tiny, fragile mind caught in a divine recycling process.
I tightened my grip on the blade. Greed's usual arrogance is annoying, but its current, palpable panic was my best tool. The mont I dropped the na, that booming, mocking voice just vanished. I couldn't be afraid; I had to push for the truth now, while it was off-balance. My survival depends on figuring out exactly which war I've stepped into, and Greed was suddenly the only map I had.
I pushed my consciousness forward, ignoring the burning ache in my core. The exhaustion was secondary; the information was primary. I focused all my remaining willpower on the connection, ignoring the overwhelming sensation of an ancient entity trapped inches from my hand. I had to know what Greed's panic was rooted in. Was it fear of , or fear of him?
"I need to know, Greed," I projected through the ntal connection, my voice sharp and demanding despite the ntal fatigue. "Tell what you know about Arkadius."
The sword's high-pitched whine imdiately cut out. The silence that followed felt heavy, packed with ancient, concentrated hatred. It was the kind of silence that precedes a universe-ending cataclysm, all focused on one question.
{How do you even know that na?} Greed's voice was a cold, demanding rasp, completely flat, stripped bare of all theatrical pretense. {Answer ! Don't you dare lie. The Great will know the truth. That na… it's a serious breach. A wound in the cosmic law. Who gave you access to it?}
I kept my ntal voice steady, refusing to back down. This was the most vulnerable Greed had ever been, and I wasn't giving up the advantage.
'No one told ,' I asserted. 'I just rembered it myself. It ca up from fragnted consciousness. A part of … was identified with that na before.'
* * *
That reply absolutely walloped the entity inside the blade. For Greed—the self-proclaid Great —the idea that a temporary human body could recollect that na was a monuntal, cosmic offense. It didn't just fear the na; it feared the implication that the original source of the na was capable of such a clever, self-resurrecting trick. Greed, a consciousness of pure, shattered Emotion, built its entire existence on defying the old cosmic rules. It existed to prove the Primordial's order was a failure.
Greed is an Arkdieu, created from the Primordial's feelings, wanting the whole universe. It viewed its existence as a superior, unbound state, a rejection of the original flawed design. Arkadius, on the other hand, was a Celestial, a creature of light and order, one of the seven who guarded the keys to the Arkdieu's prison. He was the warden, the rival, the ancient enemy. He represented everything Greed hated: structure, duty, and limitations.
The emotional Arkdieu had long ago shoved all mories of Arkadius into the "Past Failures" box. The Celestial was presud to be long gone, a bureaucratic ss-up that failed to keep them locked up. But the host's casual claim to the na—a na that should have been sealed away in Vatheron (the prison realm)—ripped that old wound wide open. The humiliation of being imprisoned by a Celestial like Arkadius was a core elent of Greed's identity.
Greed processed the host's fragnted mories—the pathetic cult, the Icarus fragnt, the 'Ascension Ritual'—and felt only intense disdain. Mortal attempts at godhood? Utterly beneath its notice. It wouldn't waste ancient mory on such trivialities; they were just background noise.
But the na, that was the key. Greed felt this horrific internal pressure, like its foundational rules were trying to correct themselves. The possibility that this human, this focal point, was actually the self-proclaid 'ego' of the Celestial Arkadius—or even worse, an unintended fusion of the two forces—ant the ancient war was about to kick off again, or reality itself was bending into a pretzel. This wasn't just a threat to its freedom; it was a threat to its very definition of existence.
Its hostility spiked into a razor-sharp calculation. The last thing Greed needed was the Celestial order returning, especially with a piece of its own mind stuck to the center of the event. The need to dominate the host was instantly replaced by the terrifying need to understand how this return was even possible and, more importantly, how to sabotage it for Greed's own ultimate benefit. It had to control the narrative.
Greed forced itself to calm down, trading panic for cold, hard strategy. It couldn't afford to lose this connection now; this insignificant human was the only link to the puzzle pieces, and the Arkdieu were nothing without their ambition.
{That's a fittingly ssy way for a pathetic creature like that to show up, using a human soul as an anchor,} Greed's ntal voice finally cut through the silence, layered with calculated hostility and intense contempt. {Your claims are noted, little ant. You've brought up an inconvenient past that absolutely concerns . The thought of that stiff-backed failure walking again is intolerable.}
The sword pulsed, showing a deep, cynical resignation. Greed hated the idea, but the truth was necessary.
{You want the lowdown on that self-righteous Celestial? A na that slls like stale ambition and broken vows?} Greed paused, pulling its consciousness slightly back into the obsidian blade, conveying massive disdain. {Let's skip the gas and the amateur theatrics. I need to recover a mory to give you the full, unvarnished picture. Bring your hand forward, runt. There's a second, smaller fragnt of —the rune on your palm—that I need to absorb. I need the clarity only that piece can provide. Do that, and I'll tell you precisely who Arkadius was, and why his return is the absolute worst thing that could happen to this universe.}
DING
{ The Gluttony trait is resonating with one fragnt of ′Greed.′ }
******A/N*****
Sorry for the long hiatus
*****A/N******* ɴᴇᴡ ɴᴏᴠᴇʟ ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀs ᴀʀᴇ ᴘᴜʙʟɪsʜᴇᴅ ᴏɴ NoveI★Fire
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