With cube key in hand, I gingerly step out from the long abandoned ho into the huge open space. I skip the steps, jumping a few tres down to the path that leads up the main bridge. Now at the bottom of the sloped walls, I really can’t shake the similarity to the canyons and gulches of the wasteland.
Far above, the sky — or tal ceiling — is a deep green. The influence is strong across the entire upper section of the island. The surrounding walls contain that window like transparency, but it reaches nowhere near the clarity of what lies above. A churning, poisonous green storm thunders through the portal-turned tal. Despite knowing there is a vast expanse of steel above , it really looks like I’m standing beneath the sky… even if an alien one.
A loud, constant rumble shakes the air. Tremors climb my legs. The massive pipes linking the sphere centrepiece to the outside of the island tremble with the near unrestrained power of rushing water.
I clamber up the stairs and find the giant sphere doesn’t look like much of a sphere anymore. With the near perfectly clear window to another world that has beco its surface, the storm in the sphere is almost indistinguishable from the ceiling behind it.
Now that I think of it, where is the eye? I couldn’t have gotten through without it noticing, right? I an, its influence was resisting in every wall I slid through.
Almost as if in response to my thought, the Anatla’s bright virid eye rapidly slides into place along the ceiling. The movent and shape of the chamber makes it feel like I’m inside an eyeball, but still it stares down at like I’m a pest. Nothing more than an annoyance that couldn’t hope to face it.
And it’s true. I could never hope to face such a being. Even stuck with what limited influence it has on our world, it still single-handedly threatens the existence of my holand. Any direct confrontation with this existence would lead to my death… or worse.
But I don’t need to face it directly. It is still stuck beyond whatever barrier Kalma spoke of — at least for now — so I can do what I need without facing this being that could very well be equivalent to a Titan. I don’t know why the Void Fog’s touch allows to ignore its influence — what with it being an Anatla itself — but I’m not about to question what allows to get this far.
I grip the cube tight and glare back at the existence beyond comprehension.
Its eye narrows, and I can’t help but feel like its focus has dropped to the key. Almost imdiately, the heavy groan and tremble exuding off the pillar-like pipes intensifies. Not only that, a dozen new cracking sounds add to the cacophony. The roar of my surroundings grows rapidly by the second.
As far as I’m aware, the ethereal window doesn’t transmit sound, but it truly feels like the Monolith is screaming. An earth-quaking roar that transcends any barriers.
Loud bangs of buckling tal resound through the open space. They start slow — barely noticeable over the discordant screech — but quickly increase, becoming both louder and more frequent. I’m panicking before even the first explosion of water crashes through the ceiling, sending fractures far along the wall, which only invites more damage to spread.
I had to lt through all the walls that might have defended from such an onslaught to get the cube to . The path might be narrow, but by the power of the geyser blasting down is strong enough that I can’t see that protecting . Not for long.
For a mont, I almost pull all my fire back through to the entrance and return to Yalun. I can always try the long way through the tal, right? But the intense corruption pervading the inverted tower above halts there. It was hard enough to get through the walls on the way here; would it be possible to push through tal that doesn’t even look like tal anymore?
No. This is the only chance I’ll have.
I shift into a bird instantly, taking to the skies while separating from the fla that trails behind my body. As much as I’m willing to risk myself to succeed, I don’t want to leave myself completely vulnerable. So, despite the incredibly uncomfortable feeling of splitting myself, I rocket both toward the inverted tower and back through the thin tunnel of molten steel.
The connection is slight, and only grows slighter by the second until it disappears completely at about a kilotre’s separation. The feeling of unease explodes as I lose all connection to myself, but thankfully, grows no more intense after that.
Another section of steel shatters above , showering in sharp tal debris that simply slides through . The incredibly pressurised stream of water sends lurching to avoid. It passes within a tre before crashing through the hos down below. The tal poses almost no defence to the stream, being cut apart faster than my fire could lt.
The sight of tre thick tal crumbling in an instant is frightening, but I have no ti to concern myself over such things. A bang, louder than the rest, montarily forces my ears back into incorporeality. I look down, not slowing in my flight. A thick stream has blown out the shutter of the corridor at the base of the bridge. The door slams into the sphere in the blink of an eye, crossing over a kilotre like it was nothing.
The water crashes out from the entrance tunnel, no less destructive with anything else in its way. The bridge shatters, cut through like paper as the stream refuses to allow anything to stay in its way. It crashes into the sphere, and a flood of dread overwhelms my fire. If the stream breaks through the massive orb containing ranked water, I can forget any hope of survival.
But thankfully, the tal of the sphere is made of sturdier stuff… or at least the Anatla knows to protect it. Instead, the solid staircase that leads up to the tower collapses, no longer having the support to hold its weight. For not the first ti, I thank Eldest Ember for flight; I’d hate to be stuck down there right now.
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Soon enough, the eye gazing down from above looks much like it did on the outside; shattered and broken, but still terrifying.
Every mont that passes, more water crashes down through the chamber. Already I can see all residences subrged, the water having filled the space beneath the sphere and rising. It won’t take long for this chamber to be nothing but liquid, despite the incredible volu involved.
I fly into the entrance of the inverted tower and imdiately spread my flas, burning through the wall above the opening and forcing the door to slam down in place. Each edge is scorched, welding the door of any gaps I can find.
Once satisfied, I fly up the stairs, lting tal as I go. Hopefully, it’ll flow down and seal the door better than my rushed attempt. A full jet out of my back blasts forward. This isn’t the ti to care about how much energy I’m expending. I need all the speed I can get.
Flying through the room full of control interfaces, I reach the uppermost chamber; the water generation control.
I know my shoddy work on the door won’t hold long, so I need to be as quick as possible. Ignoring the intense glare of the eye staring down amongst a raging storm, I shove the key into the slot and hold back a cheer at the perfect fit. Inscriptions all along the pillar overlay the window-like infection, confirming the key.
Before I can even touch the control interface, the activated inscription glows brighter — too bright to be of intended design — and a green mist spreads through the grey steel of the cube. I jolt. The Anatla is expanding its influence through the key, and so quickly.
I slam my hand down on the control as hot electricity arcs out from the inscription lining the pillar. The energy crashes through my hand, and dispersing through my feet into the floor. The intense current zaps through , charring the ground and overwhelming my ears, but I push through it. If the Anatla thinks a bit of electric hyle can stop , then it has another thing coming.
My fire presses through the slots at the base of the small orb, and I risk one last glance at the key fitting perfectly in the sole column of this chamber. The cube already glows a vivid green. Every passing instant it only gets worse, clearer and inextinguishable from the rest of the window-like tal.
I slam my arm down, the only direction the control interface seems to move without resistance now that the key sits within. Not wanting to waste even a second, a burst of physical fire assists my arm in twisting the sphere. It slides down, but before I can finish the motion, the small tal cube shatters, splitting through my face just like last ti. The interface locks in place. Even with all my strength and added thrust, it doesn’t budge any further.
Did I do it? Did I fail? I can’t tell.
The intense heat radiating off the electrical hyle burns through the pillar. Whatever the purpose of that inscription once was, the Anatla’s enhancent has sent it spiralling far further than the material that holds it can handle. Before my eyes, the pillar holding the control sphere lts away. I try pushing my fire through the inscription in an attempt to cool it before it becos irreversible, but unlike the electricity itself, my fire cannot spread through the inscription that holds it.
I can do nothing as the steel pillar lts.
The sphere drips through my fingers, no longer solid enough to fulfil its purpose.
Arcs slow to nothing, no longer flooding my body with electricity. The pillar and water production interface is nothing more than a chunky puddle of steel pooling around my feet. Without the energy rushing through my body, my hearing soon returns. The groan of impossible amounts of steel holding back the deadly flood is still there. Cracking and creaking of the island struggling to hold itself together with all the self-inflicted damage is louder.
So I’ve failed, then? I kick the quickly re-solidifying tal, spraying the viscous substance all around the room. The damn control is gone. Key or not, there’s no shutting it down now. I’ve failed and I’m stuck here. The flooding water from below is likely to crash through my shoddy attempt at a barrier in a few monts, and it’s not like I’ll be able to go upward; I’ve seen how much water is up there.
Well, at least it’s not all bad; the other half of will live. I’m not sure how losing half of my mind will affect . Considering I’ve already lost connection, I doubt I’ll rember my ti in here, but I will be alive.
Would the loss of this half of permanently scar my focus? This is entirely new grounds for … for any áed. When I would lose so of my inner fla before it beca more interlinked with , it would be painful, sure, and losing enough might cut into your capacity, but never so much to be too noticeable. How are things changed now? Would it be like losing half my body to those riparian weapons, or the hyle enhanced claws and talons of so especially dangerous creatures?
If my other half doesn’t receive my mories, will I know that success is now impossible with the destruction of the control? Would I make a second attempt, not knowing the futility of it? I hope other doesn’t kill myself.
Wow, this is a strange line of thought. Just how different can two versions of myself beco? I an, I’ve changed a lot in the past few years, so I know exactly how much one’s experience can alter a person. Is it possible to be a different person by the ti my two halves reconnect? How might that feel?
I’ve been standing here doing nothing but considering these pointless thoughts. It isn’t like to give up this quick. Even if another half of is still fine, I’m not. There must still be so way to survive this, and if not, I can at least try to get close enough that other will know not to throw my life away.
I prepare my fire, ready to push myself through or burn the tal windows that hold the Anatla’s full influence. It’s unlikely to work, but it’s a better plan than going down.
Before I can, the odd behaviour of the Anatla strikes . It no longer glares down on , nor does that green storm consu every corner of sight. The other world is in full view again, but I focus neither on the reversed mighty ripples, nor below where I know the Void Fog hides. No, I can’t tear my eyes from the Monolith.
It has moved away far enough from the window between worlds that I can see more of its form. Well, ‘more of’ still ans a small portion, as I realise it spreads endlessly to the non-curving horizon, but it is enough to send involuntary shivers through .
The virid eye alone is large enough to span kilotres — an unimaginable size itself — but the mass of storm that writhes behind it makes the indelible ring appear small. A cyclone, hurricane, typhoon of proportions incomprehensible.
I’d considered this existence equivalent to a Titan. Both were beyond comprehension, after all. But no, to this Monolith, the Titan’s I’ve seen are tiny and inconsequential. A part of denies the possibility, refuses to accept that the beings able to wipe out a tribe without even noticing, can destroy cities with a beat of their wings, are even feasibly not the at the top.
The Monolith Anatla twists through the space beyond the window, turning until it faces toward again. But now… I don’t know how I know, but there is so much hate focused directly on . Until now, I’d been nothing but a nuisance to it, but sothing has changed. With a glare filled with enough hate that I find my flas freezing still, more and more of its storm gathers around it. That eye, despite however hundreds or thousands of kilotres it is from in that other realm, it remains clear.
And then I notice; the island has grown quiet.
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