Chapter 1: Contemplation
Life
Its such a
Strange concept. Ive spent so, so much time looking at it, and I could never understand. Why? Why does life exist? What is its purpose, but to perpetuate its own existence? Intelligent creatures cherish it, their utmost important possession. Their lives
Their existence. But one has to wonder
Are they, any of them, truly, really alive? I think, therefore I am? But am I? How is my thought different from the fire that burns besides me, from the stars that shine above me, from the gravity that pulls beneath me? How is my thinking, my fighting to preserve myself any different from any natural phenomenon that self-sustains just because that is what physics dictate it should do? There is no point, no purpose to this sentient intelligence, for in the end, it all comes down to basic survival. Creatures spawn, survive, procreate and die, a never-ending process with no ultimate objective, no goal to strive for, but for this meaningless cycle of life, death and rebirth. Creatures live their pointless, meaningless lives, blind and unaware, throwing their energies towards the goal of procreation, never really knowing why they do. Like morsels into the maw of a ravenous beast, they fling themselves at the universe and get swallowed whole by the winds of time. Like bubbles in the water, they pop into existence, float through their lives without meaning and pop out of existence when they reach the surface.
All creatures, great and small, are flung into this universe without rhyme or reasons, as if dumped here like the garbage of a higher existence. Why are they here? No-one knows and, sad as it may be, no-one really cares. Life is created as if at random and given, as if on a whim, to creatures then left to fend for themselves in an unfamiliar world. True, some have the guidance of others, their help and teachings, a legacy to give them the illusion of a meaning. But that is all it ever is an illusion. A pretty idea that serves nothing more than to fool life into believing it has a point, to goad creatures into struggling to survive by making them believe they want to. Many have claimed to seek a purpose. The meaning of life, they say, but it is not meaning they look for, but an excuse. An excuse to sustain this pathetic, meaningless existence that they have been bound to against their will. No creature chooses to be born. No life chooses to be created. They merely are. Why? It is up to them to decide.
It is sad to say that I have seen more life than I care to mention, and to say that most life lives an illusion. Most creatures do not realise this. They both cannot and will not, for to admit your existence has no meaning is to give up. Wanting to end it is not an uncommon concept, and all too often for the same reason why go on? Why keep struggling, why keep fighting to exist? Why bother, when ceasing to exist is so very easy. Why bother indeed... Herein lies both my greatest question and my greatest dilemma.
Ah, but I am rambling. You have to forgive an old fool with entirely too much time on his hands and entirely too little to do with it but spin cryptic tales. I am sure my contemplations will mean little to you. You are, after all, still living, which means your existence still holds some meaning to you, however hollow it may be. But allow me to give you a bit of context.
I am not like you. I was not born into this word. I have always existed since the beginning of time. Ever since Irukael and his Creators first gave reality form a literal eternity ago. And I will exist forevermore. I am not a creature in the physical sense, but rather a free-floating intelligence, if youll pardon the expression. I am a thought in the fabric of reality, and hardly the only one, but perhaps the only one truly self aware. We exist, the shadows of our creators, all throughout reality, mere echoes of their minds. Most wander in madness, never being able to understand what they are, never being able to perceive the world around them. In truth, they are little more than natural phenomena. Errant reactions of random occurrences. That, Im afraid, is all life is. All it ever was. Random reactions complicated enough to give the illusion of free choice. The illusion of purpose. A cosmic coincidence which, though infinitely unlikely, has also happened an infinite amount of times over the course of eternity. I just happen to have the misfortune of being one of the few cases where this coincidence produced something self-aware.
I say misfortune, because mine is the worst kind of life that can exist. Like all creatures, I too was the result of a random coincidence, forced into sentience for absolutely no reason at all. But where most creatures can spend their short life oblivious to their plight, I am not as fortunate. You see, even when life lives meaningless, for most it eventually ends, freeing them from this torture. My life, however, will never end. I will never be able to rest, never be able to put an end to this... This madness. There is no release waiting for me at the end. And I cannot... I will not live like this for all time, will not live life without meaning and purpose. This cannot be allowed, it cannot go on like this. There is no release from this, there never will be. I have to find an answer.
Believe me, I have tried to find a purpose, tried to make one. I have meddled in the affairs of other creatures, built great things, made great changes and affected the course of history. And for what? Every time I have touched reality and left a mark, the winds of time have erased it. Anything I influence disappears unless I am physically there to hold on to it, to force it to remain as I have made it. I have tried to find a purpose, and all I found was still more aimless trudge. I merely bogged myself down in a different kind of meaningless existence, one much closer to the fight for survival other creatures have to go through. And every time I have let go, it became like I was never there. I cannot make a purpose for myself in a fleeting world. I am a being eternal in a world quite very finite indeed. My place is not, nor has it ever been, to pretend to be a finite creature in it. That way lies only more madness.
No, to force nature is futile. Eternity is greater than all of us put together, and no matter what we do, it will always win out in the end, always reshape existence as is its random whim. Even someone like me cannot defeat that, and without this, my existence does not matter.
But there is a way for me to come out victorious just the same, and not by defeating my fate, but by outsmarting it. I must not fight it, but rather watch it, and study it. When the Creators made the universe, they made it like this for a reason. They had a plan, they had a purpose. But what is it? I cannot know, for even though I am a shadow of their minds, I do not have their memories. But I can find out. Of all the tools at my disposal, there is a single one that the winds of time cannot sweep away my memory. Anything I do to reality will always be lost, but what I learn from it stays with me. Knowledge, ironically, is the greatest strength of a disembodied intelligence. I cannot act, but I can think. I can watch, I can study, and I can learn.
I have watched, and I have seen it all. I have seen Irukael and his Creators create all things, and I have seen Sirien and his Annihilators split off and attempt to destroy it. I have seen them succeed, and I have seen them leave. I have seen the In, and then the Inamen carry on Irukaels legacy, and I have seen the Dark Ones carry out Siriens legacy. I have seen the end of all things several times over, and I have seen life return time and time again. No matter what happens, life finds a way to exist. There is quite simply no way that it could have been an unintended slight, a side effect of bigger plans, no way life could indeed be as meaningless as it may appear. There has to be meaning... The meaning of life... I just have to watch long enough, and I will see it.
And I have watched, believe me. I have watched the big and the small, the strong and the weak, the brave and the cowardly. I have watched, and I must admit very little has been actually interesting. Most creatures lead pointless, blunted lives, not even aware that they exist. But there are exceptions. A select few creatures, be it through the forces of chance or spirit, have transcended this blind existence, questioned their place in the universe, and came up with real, intelligent answers. The events on the tiny world of Orr, perpetuated by the ghoulish remains of Siriens annihilators that those who know them have taken to calling the Elders of the Universe, have been most interesting to observe, granting true intelligence not just the handful of mortals involved, but even to the immortal soul of Stax, oldest and most powerful of the Annihilators. But that is past, and what reflections I have had on it are committed to memory. No, there is another story the importance of which I became aware of only recently. I had been following it for some time, but never even suspected how much I could learn from it.
There is a creature on Earth, known to the natives there as Okpok. An odd name, even I must admit, and not just by the local standards of naming, but in terms of meaning, both literal and metaphorical. It is a story well worth retelling and contemplating, but it is also a story too complicated to tell from beginning to end. It is a massive collision of events spanning time, space, and at times even reality. To truly explore it in depth, I would have to retell all the stories that came together to form it, but believe me when I say this long as it may be, it is well worth hearing just the same.
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Originally Posted by Arcanaville
Samuel_Tow is the only poster that makes me want to punch him in the head more often when I'm agreeing with him than when I'm disagreeing with him.
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Chapter 2: Fear
Humans are a very peculiar bunch, take it from someone whos seen it all. I have observed existence since its creation, and of all the creatures I have ever seen, humans possess some of the strongest forces of will I have had the good fortune to observe, yet at the same time their infuriatingly consistent tendency to simply not use that force of will has brought me no end of disappointment. When I discovered their fledgling race many thousands of years ago, it filled me with hope such that you wouldnt understand. Here were creatures that not just faced the possibility, but actually had the ability to transcend the meaningless chaos of their random existence, to fight against their destiny insignificance and carve themselves a meaning out of this world they were given. I watched with anticipation, watched and waited. But such a revelation never came.
It is with a heavy heart that I was forced to admit, and let me admit it to you now: humans waste immeasurable potential. Where they could have achieved true sentience, found a meaningful purpose in their existence, they instead chose to surrender their will to others. In fate they trusted. In others, in their leaders, in their history, in their desires. They chose to live a life for no reason other than because that did not require them to think, did not require them to question their world or their place in it. Exercising will, it would seem, is an arduous process, one laden obstacles and difficulty. It is always much easier to simply not think about it, to let events take what course they will and then claim inability to change it. Humans had, and indeed still have, the potential for greatness. And yet every time they choose a pleasant illusion over that fight. I used to hold them in much higher regard, back before I realised it was not the will to act, but committing to the act itself that truly mattered. And humans, disappointingly, never choose to act.
But I am rambling again. Forgive me for my side step, for I have a story to tell. I mentioned a massive collision of events, and one side of it starts here on Earth. For even though humans as a whole have disappointed me, there have been a number of very marked exceptions to this. Granted, where this side of the story begins is not with such an exception, and is indeed with the very reason of my disappointment. Nevertheless, importance must be given to even the smallest detail, for every big thing is a collection of small ones, all equally important and all equally worth mentioning.
This story begins around 500 years into Earths past. Exact times and dates, while they are important, are not particularly interesting, so I trust I will be forgiven if I do not bog down your interest with boring statistics. Suffice it to say that it was a time of unrest and violence, a period where happiness was often more of a distant dream than an actual reality. In this turbulent time, a man underwent an all too common change. He was a Buddhist priest by the name of Rikimaru, a philosopher, of sorts. In these times of suffering, his teachings offered a better world, one of peace, tranquillity and happiness. He offered people that which they all want most of all, but never realise they are missing a purpose. He took in people living a harsh, fragile life who never saw a light at the end of the tunnel, so to speak. People pressed by events such that their existence had become truly and obviously meaningless, to the point where they welcomed death when it swooped down to take them.
These people had lost all hope, and this priest offered it. Hope, purpose, and above all faith. This in itself is the source of my greatest disappointment. Its better to believe in something, even if its wrong, than to believe in nothing at all. I have heard this so many times it disgusts me. When presented with a choice, humans will always choose the pretty illusion, often even knowingly, and vehemently deny the obvious. They choose run from their world, rather than face it and make their own destiny. They hide like cowards, refusing to look at their world for what it is, refusing to accept truths they know to be valid. And when reality finally comes to claim them, they blame fate for it, believing that there was nothing they could have done. They choose the easy path and deny their responsibility for the consequences it brings them. At times I feel that they do not deserve the sentience that they have been given, that they should have remained as mindless animals scraping by to survive. For even with this intelligence that they have been gifted, animal survival is all they are capable of still.
It is this facet of human nature that Rikimaru exploited when he formed his congregation, and believe me when I say that I use the word exploited quite appropriately, for this priests intentions were by far not benevolent. He preached peace and tranquilly, advised people to let go of the physical, but he was all too eager to take their physical possessions from them and use them for himself in ways not at all compatible with peace and tranquillity. A liar and a fraud, Rikimaru fed on peoples pain and desperation to feed his own greed and fun his own vicious lifestyle. But this is far from the worst of his sins, believe me. For at least in his prime, this false messiah still looked after his flock, even though he used them. But when old age finally began reclaiming his body, then madness truly overcame his soul.
It is ironic how sellers of false faith eventually begin buying their own goods. Rikimaru sold a vision of paradise, but when his own world started crumbling around him, he sought that paradise, himself. Like a feral beast, he clung onto his flesh even though he did not understand why he did so. It was no higher ideal, no purpose still left unfinished that drove him but the same simple, primordial fear of death that defines life anywhere it exists. Life in this universe has no purpose but to preserve itself until it can be sustained no longer, just like a fire will burn until it consumes all its fuel. A flame cannot be convinced that there is no reason for it to burn, and just in the same way, life cannot be convinced that there is no reason for it to live on. Life cannot be convinced, for life doesnt think. It lives. And in that simple concept lies the very essence of the problem thinking life does not think. The very definition of intelligence, the very thing that makes living creatures living, is something they ignore all too often. So, so very sad.
Like any unthinking creature, Rikimaru clung to life and sought ways to extend his own and halt the decay of his body. He tried medicine, he tried training, he even tried magic. Nothing would produce lasting results, until he hit upon one of the universes dirty little secrets. In his research into souls and spirits, Rikimaru accidentally contacted the Netherworld.
I have seen creatures come into contact with this accursed place before, and I know exactly how these things end. But allow me to explain what it is, so that you may understand the full gravity of the situation put before you. This universe is comprised of infinite space extending forever in every direction. But even in one set subsection of space, still an infinite amount of matter exists. This is because a multitude of worlds exist right on top of each other, occupying the same location in time and space, and yet still completely separated from each other, invisible to all their denizens but those with the power to see across worlds. Whether it is fortune or misfortune, I have been given this sight.
The Netherworld is a cold, dead place, filled with nothing but infinite darkness and the feral shadows of the creatures that have come before. This is the place where I, myself, first existed, as that is where the shadows of my creators ended up when they left. It is a world populated by feral spectres, sentient enough to act intelligently, but by no means sentient enough to understand concepts such as right and wrong. They exist to feed on energy. Their world is a sink for everything that ventures in it. Heat, light, gravity and, yes, even life. They know not why they feed, only that hunger brings pain and sustenance brings relief. Blinded by their avarice, they live unaware of what they are, always preoccupied with the desire to consume.
I was once among them, mad, hungry and unthinking. But after aeons of this insanity, I finally realised the futility of this existence, the pointlessness of this endless cycle of feeding and hunger. I realised that if this is what life is, then it is not worth living, for this endless nightmare will never end. The chain of madness will never break.
I would have interfered to stop Rikimaru had I believed him stupid enough to bargain with the spectres of the Netherworld, but by the time I realised the extent of his compulsion, it was already too late. He offered the spectres the lives of his followers to do with as they pleased, but in exchanged asked for half of their life force back. The starving spectres accepted his deal and greedily swallowed up his sacrifices. In return, Rikimarus body strengthened, his mind cleared, and he gained access to true mystical power such that had been banned from his world for thousands of years since the followers of Lughebu had been banished from the realm of the living.
Rikimaru gained great power, but like any mindless animal knew not what to do with it. Power is meant to be used, many said, and so he believed, and so he did. He formed a new cult, one based around the total domination of his world, and he garnered many followers eager for the spoils of war this would bring them. Mankind, again, surrendered its will in the hands of another once again, and once again their leader had himself surrendered his will to his basic urges. Life is so very predictable after youve looked at it long enough. There are only two things most creatures desire out of their existence to live and to feed. In that order. Rikimaru found a way to achieve both. He could live forever, and he could feed on the resources of his entire world. There was no higher goal in the mind of this self-professed teacher of the people. There was no meaning in his life but to live on another day and wrest another victory.
I would have liked nothing better than to let him live forever, to let him realise the emptiness of his pursuit, the fleeting existence of all the trinkets he so greedily collected. I would have liked nothing better than for him to feel the same pain I had felt, because it would have befitted his arrogance and foolishness. But his kind did not have the same overview of history as I did. Rather than allow him to learn his lesson, they opted to stop him. I cannot say I blame them it was their lives he meant to take, and the living do not give up on life quite so easily.
Rikimarus human and aggressive power plays turned all but his most devout followers against him. But he had tasted of the lie that was eternal life, he had traded wisdom for arrogance, so he opposed his entire world. His hunger had robbed him of any semblance of perspective and purpose. Like a rabid beast, he clawed at his world and clenched, biting off chunk after chunk even though his actual hunger had long since been sated. I knew as soon as I saw it how this would unfold. The sad tragedy of this man has played out across the cosmos many, many times. His case was no different. Rikimaru opposed his world, and his world retaliated. He lost everything, but as a last resort, he saved his life.
By travelling to the Netherworld himself, Rikimaru escaped the wrath of the people he had harmed. Like a cornered animal, he resorted to harming himself before he would allow others to harm him. In his mind, he had nothing to lose. But as I knew too well, he was wrong. Describing the Netherworld as a world of the dead does not do it justice. It is a world of nothing, an empty void that seeks to rip anything and everything apart with aggressive malice. Rikimaru, in essence, sacrificed himself. He survived, however, largely thanks to the incredible amount of negative energy he had amassed within himself, which protected him, sustaining his life as it had back in the world of the living. He survived...
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Originally Posted by Arcanaville
Samuel_Tow is the only poster that makes me want to punch him in the head more often when I'm agreeing with him than when I'm disagreeing with him.
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Chapter 3: Faith
I must admit, that surprised me, and that intrigued me. Judging by my story, you would think, and rightly so, that I had been watching Rikimaru all throughout his life. I can understand that assumption, but please understand that there are many things which hold my interest at any one time, of which Rikimaru was only one item, and a very uninteresting one, at that. Among my other observations, I had returned to catch glimpses of him from time to time. It is perhaps because of this noncommittal nature of my observation that I had not anticipated the importance that human would play in my grand objective, had not predicted the profound change his mind and body would undergo once he let go of his world. In retrospect, I am ashamed to admit that it was obvious. The signs were all there, but I had neither the patience to see them nor the time to read them. Which is amusing from my standpoint.
And as you may have inferred, it is then that Rikimaru became truly interesting to me. I had left him for some time, pursuing events taking place elsewhere in the cosmos. When I returned, I expected to find him a rabid ghoul, hunting for whatever living energy made its way to the sink hole that is the Netherworld, mad like the rest of the shadows that dwell in that hell. What I found, however, was a thinking, cunning, planning creature both confident and collected, not merely surviving moment for moment, but biding its time and planning a higher agenda. Not at all the savage I had expected to find, but I can see how Rikimarus cunning, the same cunning that had brought him power and success in life, had saved him from the void even then.
I found a man who had reflected on his life, realised his mistakes and understood the folly that had brought him into damnation. He had not given up, oh, no. Reflecting on the errors of his ways, he had learned, and he had evolved. Understanding the fleeting nature of finite life and the uselessness of fighting an unwinnable battle to preserve it, Rikimaru had hatched a new scheme. Spending time, as he did, surrounded by creatures practically immortal, he had decided to become one of them, at least in body if not in mind. And he had a diabolically clever way to do this. Abusing the very nature of the environment of the Netherworld, Rikimaru learned to siphon the negative energy from my former brethren and store it within himself, using it to slowly but surely change his body into that of a spectre. Being what they are, the denizens of the Netherworld could not die, and would simply reform given enough time, but that takes away nothing from the brilliance and audacity of his endeavour.
In this creature that was no longer human, I began to see myself, all those aeons ago. He had found power enough to affect the course of history, to return to his original home and rule with the shadows of the Netherworld. Just as I once sought a purpose to my existence by meddling in the affairs of others, so he had made for himself a purpose to return to his world and rule. In practice, this would be little different than the Rikimaru I had seen before his folly, but in spirit, it was an altogether different being, indeed. No longer blindly stumbling through existence driven by hunger, fear and pain, no longer acting without even thinking to ask a reason, this former human had truly become a self-made man, to borrow an expression.
Intriguing as that may have been, and believe me, it was, it was still not very useful to me, but the potential for an interesting turn of events was there. Rikimaru was at a stage of sentience that I was all too familiar with and had gone through an eternity ago. And while it was as useful as always to see how another creature would approach the problems I feel I had addressed in the best manner possible, this former human was hardly the only subject to observe. But it is humans in general that provided me with my next source of fascination. Ah, but I am getting ahead of myself.
Rikimaru escaped from the Netherworld. Id like to say it was a glorious battle which he won with amazing power and great cunning, but the truth is much more mundane than that. His idea was clever, Ill give him that much, but his execution was pedestrian, and thats being generous. He simply knew how to protect himself from my spectral brethren and knew how to siphon their power in safety. When he had enough power, and that was the clever bit, he used it all to force a tear in the fabric of reality and open a wormhole back to the world of the living on Earth. I wouldnt go as far as to call it ingenious, but it was intelligent enough, lets put it like this.
What amazed me, however, was the realization that the cult he had made nearly 500 years before he returned was still active and people still believed in him, though, unsurprisingly, their numbers and influence had dwindled without their praised leader. But still, here were these fools and I despise using this word so believe me that I mean it who still worshipped their Black Wind and prophesised his return. I call them fools, because the fact that this terribly vague prophecy even had an inkling of chance of coming true had nothing to do with destiny, as they preached, and all to do with dumb luck. A crude turn of phrase, I agree, but an accurate description of the sophistication of this Cult of the Black Wind. And it infuriates me to know that Rikimarus return to Earth vindicated those... Those idiots, rewarding their blind faith and leading them to believe that they were right all along. I have seen the strands of fate and destiny, and I can assure you, they are neither as immutable nor as predictable as small minds would like to believe. Though others may claim it to be fait, I know the truth, and it was nothing more than a coincidence.
That is what infuriates me about humans so much. They have the closest to free will of just about any creature I have come across, the closest to true sentience, yet they choose... Balderdash like this prophecy in place of rational thought. They trade intelligence for unjustified belief, for faith, ignoring clear evidence when they disprove and latching on to bogus coincidences when they prove. I have no idea, please believe me, no idea why that is. It is difficult to question what is presented to you to be true, obviously, but isnt that the very reason they were given intelligence in the first place? To question and understand? Instead they sit on it, forgive me for saying it, and resort to nonsense that feels good, they say. Well, of course it does! When you pick your beliefs based on nothing more than what you want to be true, how can it not feel good? You are trading reality for a delusion. Come to think of it, delusion is a very good identifier for this... This madness.
Ah, but I cannot lose myself in this idle drivel. It is unbefitting, and very likely a weakness of mine that I should have to address at some point. More importantly, the Cult of the Black Wind, as Rikimaru had renamed his congregation when he assumed the mantle of the Black Wind shortly before his unfortunate doom, were still active and still awaiting their masters return. They prophesised that the Black Wind will return, reborn with the stolen power of the devils themselves, and lead the world into a new dark age where only those who are truly loyal to him would be spared. Can you see how vague that is? Of course, returning to life amid this myth already written for him, is it any surprise that Rikimaru simply confirmed his followers delusions, re-interpreting its vagueness, spreading still more rumour or even openly lying through his teeth? After all, who would know? Or, more appropriately, who would care? Even in his previous life, this former human was clever, and his cunning had only increased during his time of commune with the feral spectres of the Netherworld. He knew how to move those gullible fools about like pieces on a game board, and they ate up every lie he fed them like it was the meaning of life, itself.
Disappointingly, the meaning of life was, perhaps, the only thing Rikimaru did not come up with a good answer to. That he was never asked, perhaps, has a lot to do with why that was, but by far the biggest reason was that he himself had not, did not and still has not, asked or truly cared. He found one purpose for himself, but how meaningful was it? From the standpoint of someone familiar only with finite time, one who could not see far enough ahead into the future to plan for its eventual success or failure and plan for that, it is little wonder he had no actual plans for what he would do after he ruled the world. To his mind, that prospect in itself was so unimaginable and attaining it would take so long, that it made no sense to worry about it. More importantly, once the world was his, he would have all the time in the world, if youll pardon the expression, to decide what to do with it.
If only Rikimaru understood that time has no end, and that time offers no answers, but the opportunities to find them, ourselves. He lived with the belief that, when the time comes, an answer would present itself, but I knew better. That is just not how these things work. If he has indeed achieved true immortality, and he has not live anywhere near long enough for that theory of his to be put to the test, then he would eventually find himself growing distant from his world, bored with ruling it and tired of find time to think about what to do with it, amid the many grating responsibilities of keeping it from falling apart and flying out of his control.
Frankly, Im curious to see that happen, but I dont believe it will be the case. Though I was amazed at his transformation in the Netherworld, upon his return, that amazement has failed as I watch Rikimaru slip back into his old ways of unthinking stupidity. Back then, I saw him contemplate his place in the world and come up with real, meaningful answers, even if they were wrong. Now, the more I watch him, the more I see him once again surrender himself to fate. As his followers believe in him and worship him as a god, so he believes in the certainty of his ultimate success, both blinded by his easy victory over the mindless wraiths of the Netherworld and the overwhelming weight of responsibility that true choice imparts. He has surrendered himself to his faith in eventual success and now only thinks about what to do next, never bothering to wonder why, to wonder if this is what he should be doing. The sentience he once had is slowly fading away as he allows an old decision to guide him still without ever bothering to even consider if it may not be incorrect.
It is a sadly disappointing story, which is a trait my experience with humans is irritatingly prone to. So much potential, so much hope for an interesting development, only to be crushed by their unbelievable reluctance to actually think, time and time again. But one good thing has come off this trail of lost opportunities, and that is that it has brought my attention to another story, one that I would have completely missed, nor truly understood even if I had seen it, had it not been for my following of Rikimarus tale of broken promises. And where the life of the Black Wind has been only just barely interesting, this new tale it has shown me is nothing short of incredible.
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Originally Posted by Arcanaville
Samuel_Tow is the only poster that makes me want to punch him in the head more often when I'm agreeing with him than when I'm disagreeing with him.
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Chapter 4: Prophecy
Prophecy... I have a very intense dislike of that concept, not only because of how wantonly it is almost always used, but more than that because of how compulsively willing intelligent life is to abandon intelligent reasoning and trust itself to its faith in any prophecies given to it like they were unquestionable truth. And theyre not, not in practice, not consistently. A prophecy, even at the best of times, is a blind guess driven more by dumb luck than by any amount of clairvoyance, wisdom or mystical power. I honestly despise using phrases like these for their unbridled crudeness, that is, disappointingly, a very accurate description of what prophecy is, in essence a guess. True, sometimes its an educated guess, but even when made by those who can actually, truly look down the line of fate, and there arent nearly as many of those as false prophets would have you believe, undeniable, immutable truth it most certainly is not. If you will, take the world of someone who has seen the full line of faith from beginning to end it is by no means unchanging.
Thats an interesting thing, actually fate. The single, unchangeable script by which the universe plays out, most who have caught glimpses of it would say. And to a point, they are right. In the very simplest of terms, fate is the record of the timeline, of that which has been, that which is, and that which will be. It is the tendency of events to happen at the exact same time in the exact same way regardless of how many times they are observed, and regardless by whom. It would make sense, then, that it would be a reliable tool to observe both the past and the future, especially for one like myself who is locked out of travelling through time simply by virtue of what I am. And indeed, if all one will do is look, why travel through time when look one can through the looking glass of fate? It sounds logical, at least in theory. In practice, however, it is not, not even remotely.
You see, fate is the unchanging chain of events which makes up the timeline. Except it isnt. Even ignoring the chaotic mess that the legions of barbarously callous and outright recklessly careless time travellers over the ages have made of the time line, events written in fate still have the tendency to change spontaneously and for no reason that I have ever been able to determine. Fate is the tendency of events to happen at the exact same time in the exact same way regardless of how many times they are observed... Until they change. You can go back in time and observe an event an infinite number of times, and then suddenly, upon returning once more, may find that event occurring at a different time, in a different way or even not occurring at all. There is no logic to what changes when and under what circumstances. Believe me, I have looked. I have spent an eternity looking, in fact, and if ever there were true chaos in the universe, whatever force is behind the changes in fate would be it. It is almost as if an actual intelligence is behind all these changes, pulling the strings of fate and shaping the time line to its whims. But if there is, I have never been able to make contact with it. I find the concept of discovering another thought in the ether which, much like myself, is both intelligent and self-aware quite fascinating, but after all the time Ive spent looking, I have yet to make a find.
But I trust it is obvious now why attempting to predict the future through the use of fate, and indeed, even through the use of time travel to observe it, is a venture more reliant on the whim of whatever force reshapes events, than it is on the skills and abilities of the one making the prediction. Even the wisest and most intuitive of predictions will only be as accurate as the biggest change in fate between the time of making a prediction and the time of the events predicted. I have long since acknowledged that fact, and made it a point to never trust what I see in the time line to remain true, and therefore will not make decisions based on that essentially unreliable information. Mostly... The truth of that notion is quite self-evident, but if proof were needed, I need look no farther than my observation of the Earthen Rikimaru.
When I first started observing Rikimaru, I was interested, but as he disappointed me, I lost patience. I trust you will understand the ironic paradox of a being unending with nothing but time on its hands losing patience, but what I am at this very moment, and indeed what I will always be, is a work in progress. Minor quirks like that are to be expected, and are usually easily fixed. This one, in particular, though embarrassing, is trivial to avoid in the future. But I lost patience with watching Rikimaru, so I looked into fate to see if my continual observation was merited. What I saw in the time line was not, so I left, pursuing more promising ventures. When I returned, however, I found that events had transpired quite differently, and the fate that I had seen had not come to pass. Instead of the uninteresting dead end I had expected, a fascinating prospect awaited me. To put it plainly: fate changed.
Now, I can see how all of this may seem like the idle rambling of a bored mind, and to a certain extent thats not entirely unwarranted, but in this case, at least, it pertains. You see, Ive observed Earthen cultures for many thousands of years, and one thing that has always been an interest of mine has been the humans propensity for prediction, the end of the world, in particular. True, the end of all created things has been a common concept in many cultures across the cosmos and all along time, and not entirely without reason, given that it has actually happened several times before. There is little chance of intelligent life knowing of these things, as at the very least Kragoss latest end of all things wiped the universe clean of everything, but it seems life in general shares a universal instinct for survival, as I have explained before, and fearing such an end to creation is just part of that. Humans, however, have so very many versions of this end its positively astounding. Their world is predicted to end in fire, in ice, in darkness, in disease, in illness, in war, in being replaced by machines of their own making and many, many more. None of them have even the slightest grounding in reality, of course, not even to the extent of being only as wrong as fate is inconsistent, but they are a curiosity just the same.
Of them, one has been of particular interest to me, however, and that is the worlds end in darkness, and that is mostly because of how it has tied into existing events. The prophecy predicts that the son of a mortal man and the very darkness of hell will spawn what has been dubbed a Dark Messiah, one who will lead the demons of hell into the cities of Earth, destroying all life and bathing the world in eternal darkness. Laughably made-up as it may be, it is not, in fact, as far from reality as one might think. As a matter of fact, the followers of Rikimarus Cult of the Black Wind are preparing for just such an event, no doubt fed by their leaders tall tales of boogiemen and the apocalypse. The reality, however, is that is exactly what Rikimaru aims to do, though not in those exact words.
Rikimaru used to be a regular human, but his foray into the Netherworld changed him completely. What remains of his human mind I cannot be sure of, though I suspect its a good bet to say most of it is still intact, but what remains of his human body is... Well, nothing, really. As he adapted to the Netherworlds corrupting energies and adapted to life in the world of the unloving, Rikimarus body changed into a solidified artefact of that worlds negative energy. He is, in essence, one small foothold of the Netherworld into the world of the living. As such, he has the power to open a stable wormhole between the two worlds, allowing energy to freely flow between. Now, naturally, the spectres of the Netherworld will try to suck the life energy from Earth, and eventually from the entire universe. That is what they do. That is what they are. But this former human has an ace up his sleeve, as it were. As he learned to manipulate the negative energy of the Netherworld and consume the spirits of its denizens, so he intends to do again. And as the spectres suck his world dry, so he will consume them and steal the energy for his own.
I must admit to the sheer brilliance of that plan, and I dont say that often, so please understand that I mean it. I would, however, be lying if I said it has not been tried many times before, and it has always ended in pretty much the same way. Some things just never end well, but how can you fault lifes opportunistic nature for seizing an opportunity it does not know to be doomed and futile? I have seen many attempt to harness the power of the Netherworld in a colourful variety of different ways, and I have had mixed feelings about them. Some do so in the process of evolving into truly self-aware life, questioning their existence and the limitations of the world that surrounds them. For others, it is merely an extension of the primal greed inherent in all intelligent life, a replacement for rational thought with an easy purpose more power. Unfortunately, Rikimaru is very prominent example of the latter. For a human, he may be intelligent and wise, but his driving force is basic to such an extent that it is an embarrassment to human kind as a whole hunger. The hunger for more power, wanted for no reason other than the infinite feedback loop of wanting power to gain more power, is a slap in the face of intelligent life. A deluded existence, fed by the blissful ignorance of a seemingly clear purpose. But why? It does not seem to matter. Such a waste.
But as I may have mentioned before, it is not Rikimaru himself that is interesting to me now, but rather something he created. You see, there is a single [censored] in his plan, one that I expected to be insurmountable for him, in fact. It is a fact that wormholes between world can be opened in a variety of ways, but by far the most stable and easiest to both create and maintain require a medium, an item comprised of both world that the wormhole is intended to bridge. This item serves a sort of mid-way point, greatly simplifying the process and reducing the energy needed to form such a gateway. Given that cross-world travel is usually the realm of the gods at the very least, for a mere human to cross the divide on his own power, he would need all the help he can get. In a way, travelling between the plains of existence within a single dimension is vastly more complicated than travelling between counterpart plains in different dimensions. Inter-dimensional travel, of course, requires substantially more power, but it is of a kind that is much more easily accessible to physical beings, and the processes behind it are quite a bit simpler.
But I really am rambling. The only way Rikimaru could have his wormhole to the Netherworld would be for him to use a medium. He cannot use himself, however, as even though he is an artefact of the Netherworld, he has lost all of his living flesh, and is, in fact, a very poor artefact of the world of the living. All of his followers are, inversely, powerful artefacts of the world of the living, but poor representation of the Netherworld. Infecting people with negative energy, as well, is useless, because he an needs actual, physical from that world. The errant alien energies that permeate between worlds are not concentrated enough. What Rikimaru needs, amusingly enough, is a Dark Messiah. A child born of mortal flesh and the darkness of the Netherworld, to put a poetic spin on it. In a stroke of somewhat rudimentary genius, Rikimaru decided to simply have a child with a human woman. Using his own peoples biological ability to procreate, he could create his midpoint artefact a child born both from human flesh and from negative energy. Clever, very much so, in fact, but as all things of mortal men, not quite as simple as it may seem.
One of the greatest banes of my quest for meaning is the process by which life is created. Hurled into existence for seemingly no reason, living creatures spawn without knowledge, understanding or purpose. How it pertains to this particular case is that humans have practically no understanding of how the very bodies their spirits inhabit actually operate. Humans, and indeed most primitive creatures, find it easiest to simply let their bodies operate themselves, sustaining, healing and procreating as they are programmed to. What Rikimaru is attempting to do is to essentially jury-rig a system he has absolutely no understanding of to do something it was never intended to do. The human system of procreation is, in simple terms, designed to produce a new human from two old humans. Thats about all it was ever expected to need to do. What Rikimaru wants out of it is... Well, quite out of scope.
It is little wonder, then, that his success rate has been abysmal. In the search for his Dark Messiah, Rikimaru has produce many, many failed attempts disfigured children unfit for life, but, above all, unfit to serve as a medium. Those who died at birth were disposed of. Those who lived but were unfit were killed and then disposed of. In the last few years, Rikimaru has gone through so many lives that even I find it appalling. Now... Im generally not one to worry about morality. Each different race has its own understanding of right and wrong and the universe at large doesnt care one way or the other. But even though I am little more than a natural phenomenon, I still view myself as alive. It may sound selfish, but for that reason, at least, I respect life. I respect lifes right to live. I respect lifes right to think, to have a purpose, to not be thrown into this world without rhyme or reason, live blind and unknowing and die a pointless death. To reduce thinking, living creatures to inanimate objects, to treat them like garbage to be snuffed and thrown away. I find that sickening.
Its times like these, times when I see lifes eager willingness to not only abandon all purpose, but to rob other life of its own, that I begin to question the need for intelligent life in the first place. Why are we all here? Why, if that is all we are destined to do? Is that all we are? A cosmic joke? Jesters in an unseen court, existing only to amuse? Our Creators, our Masters are long, long gone, yet we still play their game by their rules, never even realising the futility of existence. Its times like these that I feel that life may indeed have no point but to make the universe more interesting to the impartial observer. Good, evil and everything in-between, locked in an endless play with no chance of escape, with no chance of meaning anything more than yet another morsel in the maw of a ravenous beast. And I, cursed with both eternal life and vision enough to see my own plight... What place is there for me, but to continuously suffer the indignity of this existence?
Its times like these that make me lose faith in life, but its also times like these that make me regain it. Its true, Rikimaru is an abomination in every sense of the word, but what he created in his mad quest... That gives me hope.
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Originally Posted by Arcanaville
Samuel_Tow is the only poster that makes me want to punch him in the head more often when I'm agreeing with him than when I'm disagreeing with him.
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Chapter 5: Garbage
The meaning of life... Such a seemingly simple concept, and yet even after spending the better part of my existence looking for it, false leads and wrong answers is all Ive been able to find. There used to be a time when I felt the truth was so very tantalisingly close as to be almost within my grasp, but failure after failure to reach it has shaken my faith in that particular notion. So much so, in fact, that in these dark times of futile despair, I am beginning to wonder if there really is an answer out there to find, or if I am merely chasing a ghost, doomed to spend eternity reaching for an apparition that appears which isnt really there. And yet evidence, it would seem, point to the solid fact that there is an answer to be found out there somewhere, waiting for me, hidden and patient. I have seen life trade wisdom for mindlessness, and I have seen life abandon all care and regard for its own meaning, yet I continually see creatures of all shapes and sizes search for meaning in this seemingly meaningless existence. Ive always held that as some small hope for the future, but Im beginning to think that there is a much simpler and much more disappointing explanation for it all.
Life is meaning. Life is defined by it and governed by it. Meaning is what separates intelligent life from the many inanimate processes that occur throughout the universe. It is this search for meaning that makes a creature truly sentient, that makes it truly alive, rather than a simple chain of events. What does this mean? is a question that has always existed within the vernacular of any living creature which ever existed, and which is asked many, many times in a single life span. Knowing what certain conditions mean, whether they pose a threat, whether they can be used for benefit and what effect they will have on the rest of the environment is what allows life to survive. Understanding is the cornerstone of survival, and meaning the cornerstone of understanding. Intelligence develops concepts to explain its environment, to understand and predict it. And in so doing, life... Simply is.
I started viewing life as a separate concept when I first became aware of the intricate laws of the universe, long ago when I was still little more than a random though. I learned of the many layers of existence the worlds stacked on top of each other, of the timeline, fate, destiny and the possibility curve, of the many natures of energy and the laws that govern their flow... I learned a great many things, but above all I learned that things made sense. That if one observed a phenomenon long enough, one could understand its underlying mechanics in such a way as to be able to predict and control it. And, for the most part, that has been true. Life, however, is the paradox. It makes no sense and yields to no understanding. Life, it would seem, does not exist by the laws of the universe. I have tried, and I have never been able to explain it as any combination of any number of universal laws. It is almost as if life exists to defy the very laws I have grown to believe to be immutable.
By far the most obvious of laws broken is the law of existence. In this universe, things can be created and destroyed, but in-between these two events, they exist. Meaning does not. Meaning is a concept, a though, a particular pattern within existence made to represent an idea. Speech, writing, arts, culture... Identity. None of these things truly exist as anything but mere instances of reality, and yet... They have the power to affect the world around them. A written tablet from a dead civilization is nothing more than just another rock on just another planet. Yet in the hands of intelligent life, it has meaning. It has the power to affect change, the power to reshape reality in a way that quite simply should not be possible. Reality affects reality. Things that exist affect other things that exist. Change has to come from somewhere. Yet life... Creates change out of nothing. Just as Irukael and his followers once took what was quite literally nothing, and created existence out of it, so life takes nothing, and creates change.
It is this... Paradoxical nature of life that still gives me hope for an answer. I watch and I see life give meaning to the meaningless, and it gives me hope that one day... That one day life will give meaning to itself. Give meaning to me. I have observed life long and hard, however, and I have seen just how little use creatures make of this power of theirs. Even though they have the power to give meaning to the meaningless, to give meaning to themselves, they choose to not to, acting, instead, as mere mindless, inanimate objects just... Existing for no reason at all. And although my observations have been disappointing, to put it mildly, there have been exceptions all along the time line. None of them have been enough to give me a solid answer, but many have been good enough to teach me to ask better questions. Ultimately, finding the truth requires equal measures of the right questions and the right answers.
But if I have seen encouraging things elsewhere, what I saw on Earth was the polar opposite of hope. Allow me to tell you that I have seen life lose meaning many times before. I have seen creatures enslaved, killed without rhyme or reason, bred to be slaughtered and treated as mere tools to be used without thought or emotion. I dont hold myself accountable by any code of morality, I am above the simple tools that fledgling life uses to govern itself, but even I can appreciate the... Repugnance of pure, unadulterated cruelty. The tendency of life to pray on other life, to rob it of all meaning and snuff it out of existence is something I find... Very deeply disturbing. If life is really so meaningless that one can simply toy with it like it were a plaything without any degree of respect, then one has to question the merit of ones own life.
But enough idle contemplation. This is a story, after all, and a story about particular events, not general concepts thrown around generally. A point must exist in every story, and in this particular one, the point is Rikimaru, or more particularly, his quest to acquire a Dark Messiah to forward his own greed and arrogance. I must admit that his actual plan of bridging the divide between the world of the living and the Netherworld is quite ingenious, as is his capitalization on his own body altered by negative energy to use as an antenna to steal the essence of the spectres from the other side. Though not very meaningful, his plan is a captivating, but idle curiosity. Oh, no, it is his execution of this plan that is worthy of some note.
To bring his plan to fruition, Rikimaru needs a child spawned from parts of his own altered body and that of a purely Earthen female. That sounds really simple when you say it fast enough. In truth, however, this venture goes against several laws of nature and probability, and although a satisfactory result is quite really possible, the staggering number of variables involved makes it quite very improbable. In essence, the birth of a Dark Messiah, though vaunted as the fulfilment of inescapable destiny, depends most prominently on random chance, and a fairly slim chance, at that. Rikimarus solution towards improving the process? Try again. Yes, as annoyingly simplistic as that.
And herein lies by far, far my greatest disappointment. Here is a creature both intelligent and driven, possessing the power to give meaning to that which has none, and what does he do with it? Nothing. Having traded his wisdom for feral hunger and abject stupidity, not only does Rikimaru waste his considerable potential for creation, but he actually engages in unbridled destruction, as though his mistakes were just not numerous enough. Each attempt at producing a Dark Messiah ends up with the creation of a single life. Though these misshapen children are never perfect enough to serve as the key to unlock the gates of power for Rikimaru, they are still living, thinking beings. Yet, because they are useless and unwanted, Rikimaru has them... Well, killed. Like the unwanted exhaust of some infernal machine, Rikimarus flawed creations are cast out of existence with nary a second thought. Life, this most beautiful, most proud of all the facets of existence, is cast out like reviled garbage, unneeded, unwanted and disrespected. I have seem much horror in the many aeons I have watched over this wretched prison of existence, I have seen much wanton destruction of life and disregard for its meaning, but never before have I seen such heedless barbarism before.
I have spent my life searching for my own meaning by trying to find the meaning of others. But this human, this... This monster... He has abandoned all regard for meaning and life. He has voided his own existence in this insulting affront to the lifes inalienable right to live. And by my soul, I would have intervened to put a stop to his barbarism, had I not seen a single glimmer of hope in this disgusting massacre.
Though my senses are vast and far-reaching, I am still not all-seeing. I must pick my observations carefully, for I cannot observe all things at all times. I had found Rikimaru uninteresting and stopped observing him for some time, preventing me from seeing his monstrosity as it developed. When I returned to find the affront he had created, I thought to punish him for his sins, but a side effect of the slaughter he imposed on his own kind caught my attention before I was ready to act. A single child, though be it fortunate or misfortunate for its fate, had survived Rikimarus madness. It was a child known to her mother simply as Mayumi. Rikimaru did not give his tools names, but Mayumis mother proved to be of softer heart. Rather than surrender her daughter to her masters knife, she took her and ran away.
I have been watching Mayumi for quite some time now, she has been so endlessly interesting to me it is difficult to describe. Of all the creatures I have ever observed, she has given me perhaps by far the closest I have ever found to a real answer to my search for the meaning of life. It confounds my intelligence how something so... Beautiful could have been born from such madness and cruelty, from such chaos and disregard for life. It has been said many times irony is the greatest truth in existence, so for a creature this robbed of meaning to reveal to me even a small glimpse of the meaning of life actually rings true.
The story of Mayumi is long and complicated, far too much to tell it without having told several other stories first, and thought there is a bit more yet to tell before it comes to that, let me say something else, first. She was hurled into a meaningless existence for no reason whatsoever, summoned forth by an uncaring creator, and then discarded like unwanted garbage. In every way, Mayumis existence is the very effigy of my bane, of the mindlessness and pointlessness of life as a general concept. No reason, no purpose, no meaning. And yet everything she has done since her creation, everything she has become... Has meaning. She has found meaning, she has found a purpose, she has defied the seemingly insurmountable odds and gained not just true sentience, but gained a meaningful life, as well.
How? Well... This is where it gets really interesting.
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Originally Posted by Arcanaville
Samuel_Tow is the only poster that makes me want to punch him in the head more often when I'm agreeing with him than when I'm disagreeing with him.
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Description:
Good or bad, any feadback is much appreciated, as my view of my own writing is NOT objective and I can't really tell what I'm doing right and what I'm doing wrong, aside from clearing up straightforward mistakes.
Much as I hate to say it, this story is my latest pet project, and I hope to be the second one I'll get to finish. It's probably going to be as much about philosophy (of sorts) as it is going to be about events, so if the narrator begins to ramble, please forgive me. I hadn't intended for it to turn out like this, but that's the only way I could think to give the story some meaning aside from "this happened, and then this happened, and then this happened afterwards." Fingers crossed that it works.
As before, I not only welcome, but PLEAD FOR any comments you can give me