I found myself flying. Not falling, mind you, but soaring, shooting upward into the vast, inky canvas of the night sky, cool air rushing past me like a thousand whispers. It wasn't the chaotic tumble of a bad Force Dash or the sickening lurch of a portal. This was smooth, effortless ascent, like a feather caught on an updraft. What?! My heart did a joyous, confused flip. Why am I in the sky? A moment ago I was with the beholders, and now here?
Panic, my old buddy, usually bubbles up like a bad potion. But this time, it was different. I tried to look around, to grab onto something—anything—but my body didn't react. I just flew, effortlessly, carving lazy figure-eights and zigzagging aimlessly through the grayish clouds, as if taking a leisurely stroll through a celestial park. I was in autopilot. Autopilot? That familiar, unsettling feeling, precisely like when I'd been stuck in the flashback during Toni's memory. Aha! Cutscene mode activated again. It was an odd, almost dreamlike sensation, considering I'd never actually flown in an airplane before, only buses, jeepneys, tricycles, and motorcycles—the true chariots of the gods in my old world. This, this was... better. Infinitely better. The sheer, unadulterated freedom of it was breathtaking, literally. The world stretched out below, a dizzying tapestry, and I was just… part of the sky.
I executed a spinning move upwards, just because I could, and spotted floating eyes gliding around me—not the murder-bots, but tranquil, observant ones, flying serenely around me like curious cosmic jellyfish. Floating eyes? Am I in the memory of the Beholder? I wondered, a shiver (this time of intellectual curiosity, not fear) running down my spine. I passed through a thick layer of clouds that parted before me like a velvet curtain, and then the moon etched itself above, massive and glorious, a pearl in the darkness. But this was no ordinary moon. This moon was truly immense, like a cosmic dinner plate someone had taken a bite out of, displaying a distinctive hole or maybe a colossal crater on its right side. Floating debris from it—chunks of rock and metal—were scattered around the hole, suspended in the vacuum of space like forgotten toys in a giant's bath. And within that debris, unmistakably, was a man-made... something. It had sharp, impossible angles, long rectangular objects protruding like skeletal fingers, and more scattered around it, all suspended in perfect zero-g. It was solid, majestic, retaining a definite, complex shape, yet at this distance, it was hard to make out exactly what it was. One thing was certain: it was a colossal structure, but designed in gigantic Lego pieces, defying gravity and logic in equal measure. A true blend of ancient celestial ruin and forgotten future tech.
Then, the perspective shifted, and I dove downwards, a controlled plummet, the wind—or rather, the sheer sensation of atmospheric resistance—zipping past "my" face. Or, in this case, the Beholder's array of eyes, each one drinking in the descent. Is this the feeling of skydiving? I mused, a wide, mental grin spreading across my consciousness. It was an activity I'd had on my bucket list, and at this moment, I had to cross it out, because the experience was surrealistically genuine. I felt free, truly free, and pure adrenaline pumped through my (or the Beholder's) veins as I descended. Even though it was a memory, I could still feel exactly what the Beholder was feeling, and it was glorious, utterly awesome. It was the kind of awe that made your soul tingle, like you'd just discovered a cheat code for reality.
I passed through a particularly thick cloud, its vapor a cool caress, and below me, I saw—I gulped, a mental hiccup—the Labyrinth, sprawling beneath me like a sentient puzzle box, stealing my breath away all over again. It was massive, an almost impossible feat of architecture, even from the dizzying height I was descending from. Bluish-gray structures glistened under the moonlight, a mosaic of ancient stone and alien alloys. It was circular, intricate, and several colossal structures were noticeably bigger than the others, looming like proud, silent titans. This wasn't just a dungeon; it was a civilization.
As I descended further, the picturesque structures of the Labyrinth zoomed into view, and they were pristine, utterly intact—unlike the shattered ruins and choked overgrowth I had experienced when I crashed-landed here out of nowhere. The central part of the Labyrinth featured a ziggurat-like structure, but this was no ordinary pyramid. It had elegant, fluted columns that soared into the sky, sprawling verandas bursting with lush, alien gardens, and sparkling fountains that caught the moonlight like scattered diamonds. And to make the picture truly out of this world, hovering above it was like a colossal, crystalline crown, and inside that crown was a clear, shimmering disk. The disk refracted the light coming from the moon, casting ethereal glows, and hitting the very top of the temple, which, impossibly, had a hole that seemed to suck the lunar light inward, feeding some unseen power source. It was a perfect fusion of ancient temple grandeur and futuristic energy harvesting.
The giant statue I had seen when I was atop the broken wall now had a partner. Two colossal figures, guardians of the gate, faced each other. They wore full, ornate armor, their beards intricately braided and designed so meticulously that even at their towering size, every detail was etched perfectly. In between these towering, silent giants was a huge waterfall that cascaded down into the darkness, a mesmerizing veil of liquid silver disappearing into the abyss. This entire vista was a harmonious blend of nature and technology, where colossal, moss-covered stone met shimmering force fields, and ancient carvings flowed into sleek, metallic lines.
Unlike in my current timeline, the walls of the Labyrinth were in perfect, unblemished condition. The trees and exotic plants below the walls were not wild overgrowth but meticulously landscaped in an organized, almost artistic manner, showing intricate designs and pathways. There were smooth concrete or ancient stone walkways, perfectly arched bushes, and various vibrant plants, perhaps even glowing flowers, decorating the land below the walls. Houses, big and small, nestled beside each other, their futuristic glowing windows mingling with traditional carved stone. Different kinds of mashed-up animals—strange, harmonious hybrids—were scattered around, grazing peacefully, like a fantastical zoo where every creature had found its niche. It was beautiful, truly breathtaking, even at night—utterly unlike the broken ruins and rampant overgrowth I had found when I crashed. I would have preferred seeing and experiencing it in its original state because it was totally awe-inspiringly beautiful, a true utopian dream.
My floating state stopped, hovering silently, taking in the Labyrinth in all its former glory. Then, time surged forward like a fast-forwarded video. Days and nights blurred past in a dizzying montage. I saw majestic giants moving with purpose, their footsteps shaking the ground, and what looked like industrious dwarves, bustling about like fast-forwarded ants, tirelessly creating even more structures, their tools sparking with ancient power. It teemed with life, a vibrant, thriving ecosystem, like an ordinary city where people dwell, but somehow, it was a utopian labyrinth, a perfect blend of advanced civilization and untouched natural beauty. Then, after what felt like minutes of this accelerated history lesson, dark clouds covered the light from the sun, and the scene shifted dramatically. I saw fighting—giants battling smaller beings, colossal explosions from magic ripping through the air, slowly desecrating the Labyrinth's pristine facade. As time progressed, more fighting ensued, the conflict escalating with terrifying speed. Floating ships, ships that had massive balloons (like ancient, magical blimps), appeared on the horizon, unleashing volleys of fireballs. Giants, in turn, threw colossal spears that tore through the sky, hitting some ships and sending others crashing into the Labyrinth's once-untouched structures. Then, with a slow, agonizing groan, one of the towering giant statues toppled, crashing to the ground in a thunderous roar, kicking up a colossal cloud of dust and rubble. The harmony was shattered.
I felt the Beholder's feelings, watching this unfold from the horizon—a profound shift, a gut-wrenching descent from boundless happiness to deep sorrow, and slowly, chillingly, to unadulterated anger.
Then another scene flashed before me. Giants in the ziggurat, the central structure, raised their hands. A blinding light emanated from their palms, converging, building power. A colossal explosion burst from the ziggurat with a flash of overwhelming light, so bright it scorched the memory itself. When the light faded, the floating crown above the ziggurat was gone, and the walls around the structure were leveled, reduced to rubble by the sheer force of the blast. The scene then fast-forwarded again, showing the rapid decline and utter ruin of the Labyrinth, crumbling into the shattered, overgrown state I knew it in. A once-perfect utopia, now a monstrous tomb.
"DIE!" A loud, guttural scream, raw with fury and despair, ripped through the air, yanking me violently from the cutscene. It was accompanied by what sounded like an imploding sound, and I found myself staring wide-eyed at the Beholder, like a zombie jolted back to life.
My Heightened Awareness pinged, but the attack was so bizarre, so unprecedented, that I was completely unable to read it. It was too fast, too strange, too… alien.
In my peripheral vision, I saw SmileyX. But he was different. He now had black, tentacle-like branches coming from his body, which was disassembled and wrapped around different kinds of weapons: a scythe, a sword, a harpoon, and more—a literal sphere of crazy roots yielding a deadly arsenal. It looked like he had fused with an armory, or maybe a very aggressive tree.
The Beholder and I looked at his direction in unison, sharing a moment of utter confusion and primal terror.