Knock…Knock!
"You may enter." came the powerful indifferent voice of the patriarch, this tone was a stark contrast to his earlier display as a gleeful jolly old man.
Now it was stiff, void of emotion, cold, and detached.
With a deep, unsteady breath, Lucias steeled himself. Propping the study's door open, he slipped inside.
The aged scent of old books wafted through the room. It was dimly lit, with seldom rays of sunlight filtering through the hetero-colored windows along the back wall.
"Take a seat," his father voiced—gesturing to one of the many chairs before him.
"Yes, sir," Lucias uttered in an even tone.
Face to face, he felt an indescribable suffocation within the room. It felt cold, detached, indifferent. Unconsciously he audibly gulped.
When you were within these walls, this study, even the simplest of goals, felt impossible—suppresed, for lack of a better term.
This oddity was due to the sheer effect the patriarch's [Will] had against reality. It was a problematic thing, but with much command and effort over it, he was able to fold his will countless times, that its entirety flooded the study
Every detail—even down to the smallest of elementary particles—was within his view. Nothing could hide unless a person held similar power. If he so desired, the patriarch could forcibly condemn a piece of matter to instantaneously reach critical mass—thus creating a black hole from the sheer pressure he alone held against the fabric of reality.
"The powerful want to keep the status quo. While the weak think the opposite. They grovel and struggle as they attempt to reach the upper echelons of this world, and yet are suppressed by the ancient, undying ones." The patriarch leaned forward with feline-like grace, resting his chin against his knuckle.
"So, my son, what do you think of this prospect?" His voice commanded.
Clearly, he expected a satiable rejoinder to his conundrum.
With a grin, Lucias replied, "Weakness is a sin. Those too weak to obtain strength, or those deemed unfortunate by the cards fate blesses, are merely…" He paused, his grin widening.
"Losers. Tough luck. If you're less talented than the bastard next door, you know what you do, kill them— then claim yourself more capable. The world won't stop to pity one lacking soul, it merely means your resolve was not firm enough." He finished with a nod. "Is this an acceptable answer?"
Scrutinizing his son for several seconds, the patriarch smirked, before giving a nod of acceptance. "It's enough."
Several seconds of deafening silence passed before the patriarch spoke. "I guess you're wondering why I called you?"
"Yes, sir," Lucias quickly replied.
Fixing his slouched posture, the patriarch leaned against his velvet ore'ed seat.
"Terminus," he voiced with a grin.
Seeing as his father expected a reply, Lucias quickly gave one.
"Pardon?"
"Well, Lucias my boy, seeing as you're almost of age, I felt it necessary to give you the true insight as to what our house truly beckons—our purpose of sorts."
"What do you think the Goodgomery house specialises in?"
Scrunching his brow, Lucias eyed his father with an incredulous look.
Wasn't it obvious that he didn't know? But would he utter this—simply put, hell no.
"Trade of arms, compound weapons and cold alike, Technology, and our military power?" HIs reply was more of a question laced with half-hearted assumptions.
"Thats the irony we tend to portray ourselves with," He voiced with superficial mirth, "Its nothing less of pathetic guise a mere dilution of what we truly truly stand for." His tone was laced with hidden annoyance.
Lucias, oblivious to this subtle display of emotion, continued to listen confused.
With a shit-eating grin, the patriarch tapped his monogamy desk.
"My boy, this is our true purpose." His voice was loud yet silent, it was the perfect contrast fit for a leader.
Conjured from the walls were individual pellets of yellow light. They floated toward the center of the study. Nearing one another, they began to revolve gracefully, and after several moments of this they lunged towards one another, cascading the room in blinding light.
Closing his eyes from the overwhelming stimulus, Lucias fluttered them open after several seconds of assurance.
The room was filled entirely with a massive three dimensional map, displaying the schematics of an incomprehensible large splurge of land masses.
Lucias jaw dropped spontaneously, the sight was something not of this world— it felt so visceral.
"This is Terminus, a place where the scum of Altheria gather. Walsh your mind well with its splendor Lucias,"
Lucias absentmindedly nodded—his mind preoccupied with the map. Trillions, if not quintillions, of life signatures dotted its surface. Each dot held its own corresponding color to display the power of said individual. Some colors were dull, others valiant with crucible red. Even more, there were hundreds if not thousands of continents spread across the map. Some landmasses were blanketed in snow, others lush jungles with mountains towering hundreds of thousands of kilometers into the air.
"How is this configured, or where is this?" he questioned, snapping his head towards his father. His expression clearly displayed his emotions on his sleeve— it was drenched with awe.
He had never seen anything like this before. Its geography was unlike Altheria's.
They were of similar size, or were they… it was just different?
"As I previously said, this is Terminus. It's a world separate from our own," meeting his son's gaze he continued. "It's an impossibly massive, glorified prison. Its dimensions are several billion kilometers in length and width, its depth around one hundred million kilometers."
"Ah and before I forget to mention, this was the reason why the 'world' seemingly shook, it takes an arm and leg to send a being within the 4th destination there," He scoffed, "Now imagine the potency of that mere 'Rumble' when sending someone in the 6th… I'm getting off topic."
"..."
Lucias was rendered speechless.
"...Couldn't they escape from this world if they so desired?" He asked carefully,
The patriarch shook his head, "From what I'm aware of a [Unity] realmed being created, what we now call Terminus. Inevitably failing due to lacking experience within the Unity destination, this was a mere whim of arrogance on their part, but it cost their life, nonetheless. With their death, that amassed [Will] blanketed the world creating an imperishable veil that now serves as an impenetrable barrier from the inside. Yet, as irony serves, we can send things inside of it, but retrieving anything from within is impossible, even for a Sovereign." With his final words, he sighed. "It's indeed regrettable."
Lucias gaped at his father. Such a being created that world?!
How the hell could something like that even exist! When did they exist— Who were they, what was the incentive of creating such a vast world?
Forcing his ever-growing fascination aside, Lucias deeply inhaled a large gasp of air, this was to sooth the oncoming headache from his initial's fervor.
Such knowledge was a priceless commodity worth more than life… but with time he would learn these secrets.
"Father, if I may ask? Why send the 'scum'? Or better yet, would you define scum in the context of this?" Lucias caressed his chin, seemingly in thought, as he waited for his father's reply.
"Nuance and cost. It's simply due to economics. Hence my question at first," He bore his haze into his son's "The powerful want to keep the status quo," he uttered slowly, his expression stiffening.
With his father's retort, Lucias's expression relaxed—it was as expected.
"Had it ever come across as odd that even though this world has an incomprehensibly vast number of people, there are only one or two peerless geniuses per generation? Now ponder this inquiry and maximize it across the greatness of the world." His grin widened, and his son's eyes widened as realization dawned upon him.
His expression became mortified.
"The 'scum'—or how we refer to them to alleviate their humanness—are merely people who were unlucky enough to be born into less privileged houses. It's a pity—it's all through luck." The patriarch shrugged with a smug smirk, as he tapped his chin.
"Then what are the other demographics there? Or are there just peerless geniuses waltzing around in Terminus?" Lucias voiced this knowing full well what the answer was.
The patriarch shook his head. "Oh no, there are literal scum within Terminus. Frankly, they actually make up around seventy percent of the population, last time I checked. The rest belong to those who possessed Initials far too powerful for our world, unfavored bastards, religious fanatics, and—as mentioned—peerless geniuses."
Stealing a final glance at the projected map, Lucias sighed.
"Do you have any more inquiries?"
"No, sir, I have none," he replied. "And if that's all, then I'll be taking my leave… this is a lot to process."
This world altering material was, at minimum, going to take several days to properly digest, given the inherent intuitiveness of his Initial.
"You may leave," The patriarch said with a nod of empathy.
~~~
~~~
~~~
Click..
Step… Step…
Hearing the distant steps of his son, the patriarch spun around in his chair— from his perch, he gazed from his study's grand window into the vista of the estate's grounds.
It was so quaint,
"Cerges," he groaned with a sigh,
[~Ahh, you caught me again Liam~] came the joking tone of a voice impossibly near, yet ever so distant, aged male.
[And, here I was wondering how long it was going to take,] the voice hummed, with an added chuckle [So you, as the stubborn mule you are, actually told your son about Terminus? I must say, its rather unprecedented.]
"I don't know what you mean, this was the most logical turn of events." The Patriarch argued evenly, evidently, he was annoyed by this old man.
[Ooh, the hypocrisy is thick with this one, no?]
"Just leave me alone Cerges, I have more important affairs than making idle banter with you."