One didn't immediately enter the Spell upon contracting the Nightmare Disease. It took
several days to a week before the drowsiness reached the critical point, where your souls was
forcefully plucked from your body and sent hurtling towards nigh-certain doom. The Spell
wasn't kind or gentle, but it was hella efficient. Of course, according to those from the Age of
Heroes-was it one of the Nine? Noctis? Or maybe Anake?-Awakened back then weren't even
guaranteed an Aspect, and had to manually cultivate their Rank. Compared to then, the Spell
was indeed a "crash course speed run" to Godhood. Anyways, the point was there was
protocol follow for soon-to-be Dreamers: report to the nearest police station, where you will
be assigned both a room for your convenience and an executioner for theirs. I spent the first
three days measuring the growth of the Spell's pull, and figured I wouldn't last a full week. So
on the morning of the fourth day, I set out.
'Wonder if I'll get Master Jet like Sunny. What are the chances?'
I wondered aimlessly as I made my way across the slums. Thankfully, no one bothered me,
likely because they recognised me from all the alms selling Father Malachi got up to. The
neighbourhood knew he was dead, and even those I recognised as belonging to specifically
vicious gangs just passed over me. A rare kindness, perhaps helped by my despondent and
blank look. The death of the priest hit me hard, even though I only knew him for under two
weeks. The memories of the original Adam were purely informational, with very little
emotion attached. And yet, I felt tears nearly fall several times as I walked. Maybe the Priest
would become something of a local myth in the area, or maybe I would be the only one to
remember him. Maybe the world would simply forget and moved on if I died in my
Nightmare. The novel never actually described where Sunny began the story. He was just in a
park, and then walked to a police station. I knew I wasn't in the same area as him because I
didn't spot any of the landmarks he later revealed while on a date with Nephis, but my exact
location was still a mystery. Even the old man didn't really know where we were on the map,
he just wandered from place to place and only sporadically contacted some fellow priests
scattered around.
So, I just followed the path of slowly improving buildings until I reached a place somewhat
better than the slums. This should be the bottom of the "actually human" ladder that the
Government and Great Clans created. Minimum wage and barely hanging above the red, but
above it nonetheless. There were no police checkpoints, something I always found strange in
the novel-with such big elitist classism, I expected armed guards at every crossroads-but
maybe they were only stationed in the middle-income and higher parts. Anyways, my
journey was smooth sailing all the way. Makes sense though, even Sunny only started getting
his shit rocked upon unlocking [Fated]. Surely I couldn't have even worse luck than the
treacherous Lost from Light?
I knew I had made a wise decision, as by the time I had figured out where the nearest station
actually was (courtesy of a passing pedestrian) I was physically yawning and felt my senses
start to dull. Did the Spell accelerate based on intent? I thought I would have a couple more
hours, but now I figured I had only two at most. I hurried my body as much as I could andmanaged to find my target-a squat and dull grey building nestled between what looked like
offices. The inside was quite impressive though: reinforced armor plates on the walls and
poorly hidden turret nests in the ceiling. The officer at the desk was just as scruffy as Sunny's
too. I wasn't the only one here: Officers moved with a tired purpose, their eyes avoiding mine
as I approached the front desk. The man behind it, his uniform crisp but his face etched with
a deep weariness, looked up. His eyes widened almost imperceptibly when he saw me—a
too-young boy, alone, dressed in the black rags of a mostly-abandoned faith.
"I'm infected," I said, my voice flat, the words feeling like ash in my mouth. "The Nightmare
Spell."
A flicker of something—pity? fear?—crossed his features before he schooled it into
professional neutrality. He didn't ask my name. He didn't need to. He simply nodded, a
sharp, jerky motion, and keyed something into his terminal.
"Roberts!" he barked, his voice too loud in the tense quiet. A larger, bulkier officer emerged
from a side door. He had the grim, resigned look of a man who'd done this too many times.
"New arrival. Prep Room Three."
Officer Roberts looked me over, his gaze impersonal, like a butcher assessing a cut of meat.
"This way, kid."
He led me down a sterile, brightly lit hallway to a heavy metal door. Inside was a sparse,
windowless room. Its sole feature was a stark metal-framed bed, bolted to the floor, with
thick leather restraints on the wrists and ankles.
"Lie down," Roberts instructed, his voice devoid of inflection.
I did as I was told. The metal was cold through my thin clothes. He moved with practiced
efficiency, pulling the straps tight, securing my wrists and ankles. The leather was stiff and
unyielding. I was utterly, completely helpless in them. 'Is this how Sunny felt, how Cassie
and Nephis did too?'
He finished and stood back, looking down at me. The clinical detachment in his eyes was
somehow more terrifying than outright malice.
"Listen close," he said, his voice a low rumble. "This is how it works. You're going back to
sleep. When you do, you won't be here anymore. You'll be somewhere else. That's the First
Nightmare."
I lay perfectly still, my breath steady as I listneed intently. I knew the drill, but perhaps he
had personal experiences to share.
"That place, whatever it is, it's real. The Spell makes it real. And it's gonna try to kill you.
Your job is to not let it. You survive. You find a way out. That's all that matters."
He leaned closer, his voice dropping even further. "If you die in there, you die for real. Your
heart stops. We'll come in here and find a monster born from your corpse. That's how it goes
for most."The cold finality of his words seeped into my bones.
"But if you do survive… if you make it through…" he continued, a faint, almost mythical
note entering his voice. "You come back changed. The Spell rewards survivors. It gives you
power. An Aspect. An Ability. Something to help you fight. And it gives you a Flaw. A price.
Everyone gets one. Always."
Aspect. Ability. Flaw. The familiar terms echoed around my skull. Yes, I knew these words.
They were what had attracted me to this story long ago, the masterful world woven by
Guiltythree. Father Malachi had been an Awakened too, and the thought filled me with
newfound determination. 'I won't die here-I'm special. The Curator, a God himself, said so. I
can adapt. I must.'
"That's the deal," Officer Roberts said, straightening up. "You get one free trip. You survive
that, you wake up as a Dormant. After that, the Spell will call you back. Once forcefully
against your will, and then again with insidious whispers and inate greed. The Nightmares get
harder. The rewards get bigger. The cycle repeats over and over, every building. Until one of
them finally kills you."
He looked at me, a boy tied to a bed, and for a moment, I saw a shred of something human in
his eyes. "Good luck, kid. You're gonna need it."
He turned and left, the heavy door clicking shut behind him, plunging the room into silence. I
was alone, strapped to a bed, waiting for a nightmare to begin.
The Curator's promise echoed in my mind. A Pathway from Lord of the Mysteries. It was
here. My power was here. But I couldn't access it. I was entering the First Nightmare not as a
Beyonder, not as a Seer, but as a helpless, mundane boy.
The true horror wasn't the monster waiting for me. It was the terrifying realization that I was
about to face it with nothing but my own wits, in a game where the penalty for failure was a
very real, very final death. Sunny dreamt of a mountain and the slave caravan that crossed it.
He slew an Awakened Hero and a Tyrant there, the former with treachery and the latter
through sheer dumb luck. Would I be required to do the same? I wasn't him, I wasn't an actual
slum rat. I still had morals, still had actual motives and dreams other than wanting to fuck
everyone better than me like some stupid brat. Ah, nearly started hyperventilating there.
Gotta keep it under control.
The Spell decided to help me with that, because only minutes later a massive wave of
dizziness crashed over me, and I felt like I was falling. An extra extended yawn escaped my
mouth as my eyelids irresistibly began to close. I prayed to The Fool, to Amanises, to the
True Creator and Adam and even the Mother Goddess of Depravity. I wouldn't get a response
of course, but I felt it was apt considering I might gain one of their Pathways. I gave a
passing thought to Weaver and the Shadow God to bless me too, but I expected even less
from Them. They were both dead, after all.
=========================================The sterile white light of the prep room dissolved into nothingness. The cold grip of the
leather straps vanished. For a moment, there was only a falling sensation, a dizzying plunge
through layers of reality.
Then, I stood.
I was on a windswept mountaintop, the air crisp and thin, tasting of ozone and something
purer. Before me stood a temple of breathtaking beauty. It was built from radiant white
marble, its columns reaching for the heavens, its pediments adorned with sculptures of gods
and heroes frozen in perfect, divine action. A sense of profound peace, of absolute order,
emanated from it. This was a place of sanctuary, of light untouched by the world's corruption.
Time began to warp.
It accelerated, a blur of days and nights flashing by. I watched, a ghost outside of time, as a
trickle of people became a river of desperation. They flooded up the mountain path—families
with hollow eyes, soldiers with broken armor, priests clutching shattered relics. They sought
refuge within the temple's radiant walls. The skies, once a perfect azure, began to bruise.
Gloomy, sickly clouds gathered, and the sun's light grew wan and feeble, as if fighting a
losing battle against a rising tide.
Beyond the horizon, titanic forces clashed. I couldn't see them, but I could feel them—world-
shattering blows that vibrated through the very stone of the mountain, and deafening silences
that were more terrifying than any sound. The temple, once a bastion of order, began to fray
at the edges. The peace shattered into chaos. The cries of the refugees were no longer prayers
of thanks, but screams of terror.
Then, time slowed, crystallizing into a moment of perfect dread.
A man, cloaked in shadows so deep they seemed to drink the fading light. He trod the same
path as the refugees, but his figure was far more steady and composed. I couldn't see his
features, but his shadow extended further behind him than the sun's position should allow. He
arrived at the doors of the temple, seemingly admiring the architecture, before stepping
inside.
Then time surged forward again, solar cycles passing in the blank of an eye. The clashing
powers beyond my view faded, but what replaced it was even worse. From the shadows at the
bottom of the mountain, a flood of filthy darkness erupted. It was not an absence of light, but
a substance—thick, oily, and alive. It slithered up the mountainside, consuming everything it
touched. Grass withered and turned to ash. Stone cracked and blackened. And from the
seeping tide, monsters emerged. Twisted, shambling abominations of flesh and nightmare,
things with too many teeth and too many limbs, all driven by a single, hellish purpose: to
besiege the temple, to defile the divine, to extinguish the last light.
The vision began to fray, the horrific scene dissolving into static.
My eyes flew open.A sharp, panicked gasp tore from my lungs. I was on my hands and knees on cold, familiar
marble. The scent of ozone and purity filled my nostrils.
I was no longer watching the temple.
I was inside it.
I was in the grand courtyard, surrounded by those same radiant columns. The once-orderly
space was now a chaotic camp filled with terrified refugees. Their cries, which had been a
distant part of the vision, were now a hubbub of fear that slithered around and against my
ears. Through the open gates at the far end of the courtyard, I could see the start-or the end-of
the path that led down the mountain. More refugees continued to trickle in, small in number
now but I knew they would grow.
The vision had been a preview. A warning of what was to come, just like what Sunny had
received.
The First Nightmare had begun. And I was trapped in it.
The sharp, panicked gasp tore from my lungs, but the scream that wanted to follow died in
my throat. I choked it back, clapping a hand over my mouth. The sound was too loud, too raw
in this place of hushed terror. I was on my hands and knees on cold, familiar marble. The
scent of ozone and purity filled my nostrils, now undercut by the stink of unwashed bodies
and fear-sweat.
I was inside the temple, I realised again.
The grand courtyard was not yet packed but I could easily imagine when it would be. A
scattering of huddled forms—men in the tattered remnants of soldier's uniforms, women
clutching crying children, old priests rocking back and forth as they whispered frantic
prayers. Their faces were etched with a exhaustion so deep it was a physical weight. This
wasn't the chaotic siege of my vision; this was the grim, tense calm before the absolute storm.
The gates at the far end were still open, a trickle of new refugees stumbling through, their
eyes wide with the horrors they'd fled. The monsters were not yet at the walls. But their
coming was a certainty, the doom the Spell had charged me with averting.
Observe. Understand. Plan. The mantra of my potential Pathway, still useless without its
power, was all I had.
I forced myself to my feet, my legs trembling not from weakness but from adrenaline and
dread. I found a relatively quiet corner near a towering statue of a stern-faced goddess, her
marble gaze looking out over the doomed. I slid down the wall, pulling my knees to my
chest, making myself small. I had to think. I had to process the horror film that had just
played behind my eyes.
The vision. It wasn't random, I knew. It was a message from the Spell itself, foretelling what
was to come. Or rather, what had already happened in the actual history. A Fate that Weaver
desperately wanted to change, even at the cost of sacrificing everything and everyone,
including himself.First: This gathering. The desperate flocking to the last bastion of light. We had days, maybe
less, before the end began. This temple was a magnet, drawing in the last remnants of a
broken world. And it would soon be our grave as well.
Second: The clash beyond the horizon. Horrifying powers fighting each other. Gods?
Daemons? The [Unknown] that were the first to breach the Seal? The Doom War was the
most likely answer based off the novel. Hope had already been imprisoned and then released,
and Nether must have already shattered his stone armies against the might of the Goddess of
the Sky, the Lady of Storms. That meant something had been decided. Something had been
lost. And the winner… the winner was now turning its attention here. And my knowledge as
a reader denied the pleasant delusion it was a force of good.
Third: Him. The figure cloaked in shadow. He hadn't felt like the others. The monsters were
mindless hunger, a natural disaster of flesh. But he… he had purpose. Steady. Composed. He
had walked the path and entered the temple. And his shadow… his shadow had been wrong.
Not the absence of light, but something more. A blessing. A familiar one. The Shadow God
was an Orthodox god in Shadow Slave, albeit disliked and ridiculed by the other five. He was
a deity of sanctuary, repose and secrets, not of corruption despite sharing similarities with the
black ichor of the Corruption. Was this stranger a follower? A champion? His arrival was a
key point. He would soon arrive at the walls.
Fourth: The flood. The end. The monstrous tide that would consume this mountain and
everyone on it. That was the finale. The event I had to survive, or better yet, prevent.
A cold, logical part of my mind, the part that had devoured every chapter of Shadow Slave,
began to work. This was a scenario. A dungeon, in a way. There were NPCs—the refugees,
the priests. There was a setting—the temple. There was a key event—the siege. And there
were players. Me. And him. The shadowed man. He had to play the most vital part in the
solution.
My goal wasn't just to survive. It was to change the outcome. The vision showed a total loss.
Everyone died. The light was extinguished.
But I was a variable the vision hadn't accounted for. I knew the future.
I had no power. I had no weapon. I was just a boy in a black tunic. But I had knowledge. I
had a Pathway, dormant and locked, but there. And I had the quiet support of a cosmic force
surpassing any mere God in fiction.
The first step was to explore the temple, to see just where I was and the role I had assumed.
Next was wait for the Shadowed Man to arrive. He was the other active element in this
equation. Ally or enemy, I needed to know. He was connected to the Shadow God, and that
connection might be the only shred of divinity we had left on this mountain.
Taking a deep, shuddering breath, I pushed myself back to my feet. The numbness was gone,
burned away by purpose. I looked out at the fearful crowd, determined not to end up like
them in the ordained future. And so, I collected myself and spoke in a quiet, slightly
trembling voice: "Spell."***********************************
Name: Adam
True Name: —
Rank: Aspirant.
Soul Core: Dormant.
Memories: —
Echoes: —
̒
́
͌
́
͛
͝
̈
͋
̓
͛
͌
͐
͠
̔
͑
̾
̐
̔
Attributes: [Uniqueness of Visionary], [Flame of Divinity], [Blessed of I ̵
͛
n̵
̚f ̴
i ̵
̕
n̵
ì ̵
t ̵
̪
̫
͍
̪
͇
̟
̦
̢
̼
y̵
͘].
̙
͕
͖
̺
̝
̡
̻
͍
͔
̺
͜
͓
͙
Aspect: [Visionary].
Aspect Rank: [Divine].
Aspect Description: [The Visionary Pathway is adept at psychological manipulation.
Authority over Mind, Discernment, and Imagination. With the symbols
of Creator and The Ruler of The Mind World, granting partial Omnipotence and
Omniscience within that Domain]
Aspect Abilities: [Spectator, ???, ???, ???, ???, ???, ???, ???, ???, Visionary].[Spectator: A Spectator receives great enhancement, mostly on their inferential, analytical,
observational, and identification abilities along with their memory. Spectators possess keen
powers of observation when it comes to observing individuals in either an individual or group
sense. They can look at a person strictly from a bystander's perspective, discovering their true
thoughts from their expressions, their manners, and their subconscious actions. Through this,
they can accurately figure out connections and draw conclusions from the details they
gathered to form an accurate mental model of the target. A Spectator will also possess the
sharpened eyesight needed to analyse a target's body language.]
[Visionary: As the master of the Mind World, the Visionary holds dominion over all mental
realms. In essence, They are the embodiment of Humanity: Humanity is both good and evil,
rational and mad. Humanity arises naturally but can also be manufactured artificially by
the Visionary. As the The Ruler of The Mind World, the Visionary can also be, in a
sense, Omniscient, but this effect is limited to matters related to the Mind World. Their
Discernment can also extend into the Fate, Reality, and Illusion Domains. They hold some
Dream authority- the concept of Dreams itself. They hold partial authority over Loss of
Control, the cause of one's descent into corruption.]Chapter 4: First Nightmare-II
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
***********************************
Name: Adam
True Name: —
Rank: Aspirant.
Soul Core: Dormant.
Memories: —
Echoes: —
̒
́
͌
́
͛
͝
̈
͋
̓
͛
͌
͐
͠
̔
͑
̾
̐
̔
Attributes: [Uniqueness of Visionary], [Flame of Divinity], [Blessed of I ̵
͛
n̵
̚f ̴
i ̵
̕
n̵
ì ̵
t ̵
̪
̫
͍
̪
͇
̟
̦
̢
̼
y̵
͘].
̙
͕
͖
̺
̝
̡
̻
͍
͔
̺
͜
͓
͙
Aspect: [Visionary].
Aspect Rank: [Divine].
Aspect Description: [The Visionary Pathway is adept at psychological manipulation.
Authority over Mind, Discernment, and Imagination. With the symbols
of Creator and The Ruler of The Mind World, granting
partial Omnipotence and Omniscience within that Domain]Aspect Abilities: [Spectator, ???, ???, ???, ???, ???, ???, ???, ???, Visionary].
[Spectator: A Spectator receives great enhancement, mostly on their inferential, analytical,
observational, and identification abilities along with their memory. Spectators possess keen
powers of observation when it comes to observing individuals in either an individual or group
sense. They can look at a person strictly from a bystander's perspective, discovering their true
thoughts from their expressions, their manners, and their subconscious actions. Through this,
they can accurately figure out connections and draw conclusions from the details they
gathered to form an accurate mental model of the target. A Spectator will also possess the
sharpened eyesight needed to analyse a target's body language.]
[Visionary: As the master of the Mind World, the Visionary holds dominion over all mental
realms. In essence, They are the embodiment of Humanity: Humanity is both good and evil,
rational and mad. Humanity arises naturally but can also be manufactured artificially by
the Visionary. As the The Ruler of The Mind World, the Visionary can also be, in a
sense, Omniscient, but this effect is limited to matters related to the Mind World. Their
Discernment can also extend into the Fate, Reality, and Illusion Domains. They hold some
Dream authority- the concept of Dreams itself. They hold partial authority over Loss of
Control, the cause of one's descent into corruption.]
********************************************************************
I stared at the information hanging in the air before me, a shimmering screen of light that
only I could see. For a short moment, my mind couldn't compute what it was being fed,
before I let out an abrupt laugh. Thankfully no one else seemed to hear me, or care if they
did, otherwise I would have ducked my head in embarrassment.
Visionary.
The realization was entirely surprising to be honest. This body, the name, the cross I
carried...on some level I had expected to receive one of the God Almighty's Pathways, but the
exact one was less certain. Visionary was indeed Adam's Pathway, but Adam was just the
Ancient Sun God's backup, while He held Hanged Man and Sun initially. I hadn't really
considered possessing White Tower or Tyrant actually, just the other three. Still, not that I
knew for certain I could lock in on which path to pursue. In Lord of the Mysteries, the
Visionary Pathway is one of the few that can kill High Sequence Beyonders while not being
one yourself: madness was the root of everything in that novel after all, and the Visionary
holds the trigger for Loss of Control. A Reaper and Shepherd are other examples, and I
suppose a Priest of Light could deal harsh damage to a Demon or Shaman King due to type-
advantage.
Then, my eyes scanned over my Attributes.
[Uniqueness of Visionary]. This one was concerning: In the system I understood, the
Uniqueness was the final, ultimate ingredient needed to become a Sequence 0, the apex of aPathway. It was the Pathway's ultimate authority, its' symbolic manifestation. To have it as a
base attribute was… it was impossible. It was like being born as a finished God. According to
the author himself, a sentient and alive Uniqueness on its own possesses the raw power of a
complete Sequence 0, merely lacking the symbolic influence without the Sequence 1
Characteristics. To put it into reference, the Hidden Sage was stronger than Bethel Abraham
despite the latter being more "complete". Guess Steam wasn't that much of a fraud, though
He was still the runt of the litter. Seriously, not even having a sliver of a Sephirah under your
control by the 5th Epoch? Even Farbauti's dead alt account managed to dabble with the River
of Eternal Darkness. Amon would be near that level too, but not quite, since the Ancient Sun
God placed restrictions on "Him" via imbued Humanity.
[Flame of Divinity]. The term was familiar to me too, since it seemed to play an important
role in the world of Shadow Slave. Nephis began with this Attribute unlocked from the start,
while Sunny had to climb his way up to it. [Your soul is aflame with the light of divinity]
was all it read, so just as vague as in canon. Perhaps it would allow me to take Blood Weave
from the Vile Thieving Bird's Egg? Uhh, or did Sunny do it because of the Shadow God's
legacy? Damn, my memory was already starting to fail. Hey in my defence, the beginning of
the story was pretty quick, and I never re-read most of volume one. Call it PTSD from the
ending.
[Blessed of I̵ ̪̟̻͋̒ n̵ ̫̦͍͛̓̚ f̴ ͍̙ ͛͛ ́ i̵ ̪͕͔͌ ̕͝ n̵ ͇͖̾͐͌ ͜ì̵ ̢̺̺̔̈ ́ t ̵̼̝̐ ͠ y̵ ̡͓͙ ̔͑͘ ]. The glitched, corrupted text made my head ache to look at, and the last
word was just a squirming mess. Not even the Unknown triggered this from the Spell, the
hell was I afflicted with? Hmm, no, I had a solid guess what it was. [You have been blessed
by n̵ ̫̦͍͛̓̚ f̴ ͍̙ ͛͛ ́ i̵ ̪͕͔͌ ̕͝ n̵ ͇͖̾͐͌ ͜ì̵ ̢̺̺̔̈ ́ t ̵̼̝̐ ͠ y̵ ̡͓͙ ̔͑͘ and all the chaos it may bring.-Love, the Curator]
Aspect Rank: [Divine].
Yeah, that was expected to be honest. As I said earlier, being the Uniqueness brought to life
means I was already infinitely close to being a True God. Though it did raise the question
about the Author Characteristics: would I somehow need to become Divine three times over,
or would mastering the Author Aspect allow me to automatically sublime into Sequence 0?
What about the Apotheosis Ritual? I sincerely doubted I had the skill or patience to direct the
world from behind for a thousand years. Hell, I didn't even have the time! My biggest
problem was the Acting Method though-or rather, me being devoured by the Acting Method.
Amon and the Hidden Sage were great examples of the negative effects of being born
Complete Mythical Creatures. Even for a softie like Azik, it took having his soul split in half
and walking around as an amnesic corpse for a thousand years to learn the meaning of
Humanity. Amon failed to do so even after losing the majority of His Godhood, becoming
just a Sequence 2 and wandering the Cosmos. At most, He become more melodramatic.
Would something similar happen to me? Would I gradually lose my sense of self and be
assimilated into the Uniqueness? The experiences of my namesake were useless, since the
Ancient Sun God's botched attempt at revival made it impossible to distinguish what was
Adam's original personality and what was the result of being taken over. Rubbing my
eyebrows as a wave of sudden fatigue swept over me, I tried to stop thinking of that and
move on. Foolish I know, but the thought was too stressful to deal with on top of everything
else.So I read the abilities.
[Spectator].
As the description unfolded in my mind, the world around me seemed to slow down and
magnify. The fearful huddle of refugees was no longer just a mass of terrified people. It was
an open book. A slight tremble in a man's hand wasn't just fear; it was a possible tell of a
strapped to his forearm. The way a mother's eyes flickered towards a specific pillar wasn't
just anxiety; it was the location of where she had hidden something. The whispered argument
between two priests wasn't just panic; it was a deep-seated theological rift laid bare in their
micro-expressions, erupting once again. Information flooded me, not as just a noise, but as a
somewhat comprehensible stream. He could see the strings connecting everyone, the hidden
hierarchies, the secret alliances and hatreds. The power was passive, constant, and
overlapping in a way I didn't yet understand, but that was merely my personal inexperience
talking.
This was just the first ability. The first of nine unknowns, culminating in…
[Visionary].
The description of the final ability was a vista of such terrifying, absolute power that I almost
wanted to laugh again. Omnipotence and Omniscience within the Mind World. Authority
over Dreams. Authority over the very concept of Loss of Control—the root of the Corruption
itself. How would that work in this world? Would it cause a seed of Corruption to
just...appear inside someone? Would they still break down and mutate into a monster? And
how would it affect those who were already monsters? This was one of my biggest fears
about using the Potion System: compatibility. The Curator hadn't outright stopped me, but
neither had he guaranteed my success. Still, the effectiveness was sure to be outstanding. Jet
had stated that loads of Awakened grappled with mental issues due to the Nightmares, not to
mention the waves that would be stirred up in Antarctica. Wait, wasn't trauma also a cause to
be infected with the Spell? Could I specifically trigger Nightmare Seeds within other people
to convert them into Awakened? The potential there so too much for me to focus on right
now.
The sheer, grotesque scale of the favouritism was staggering. This wasn't being thrown into
the deep end; this was being given control of the ocean before the first drop of water touched
you. The Curator hadn't just broken the rules. He had looked at the board, decided he didn't
like the game, and handed his player a flamethrower. 'Thank you, O' mysterious Curator' I
offered a quick prayer of gratitude in my head.
I looked out at the doomed temple, at the people I had moments ago pitied. My perspective
had been violently inverted. I wasn't a victim trapped in a nightmare. I was a Divine Ranked
Awakened, a Spectator of unparalleled perception, and a potential Visionary of the mental
realm, standing in a scenario perfectly designed for my specific, world-altering powers. I was
no longer a variable the vision hadn't accounted for. I was the anomaly that was going to
shred the vision entirely. A faint, cold smile touched my lips, utterly devoid of humour. It was
the smile of someone who had just been handed the keys to a fortress and told the siege
outside was now his problem to solve.…That arrogance shattered only seconds later when a man appeared on the edge of a
courtyard. He was middle-aged, with his grey hair short and cropped close. He sported a trim
mouth beard of black hair, and his eyes were a dried gold. For cloths, he wore a simple
clerical robe of light blue and red pants. A curved scar ran down his right cheek to just under
his cheekbone, though it was relatively faint and I wouldn't have noticed if not for my
Spectator vision. His mouth was set in a stern frown, and the lines surrounding it told me it
had been that way for years. His skin was also a slight grey, not quite healthy. The most
notable trait of his though, for me, was the look in his eyes.
They were steady and calm, yet carried an aloof cruelness that nearly made me shrink back
instinctively. Those were the eyes of a man in power, the look of someone who had
experienced the harshness of life. In a way, he reminded me of an army sergeant, though he
wasn't particularly muscular.
He made no declaration of his arrival, and few noticed him. The two quietly arguing priests
did however, and quickly stepped away from each other. going back to supervising the crowd
of refugees. The guards closest to him straightened up, and I could see the grips on their
spears tighten. As I observed him, I noticed a faint but present aura seeping out of him. The
man had restrained it carefully, but failed to escape the attention of someone already
watching. It was deep and fathomless, formless yet still gripping me. The world
seemed...brighter around him. Larger and more full. I knew what this feeling was, had had it
described to me several times from the pages. Sainthood. This man before me was a
Transcendant.
I let out a hiss and swallowed my saliva at the realization, but then the Saint's eyes flickered
over and met mine. I had received the tiniest warning from his micro-expression shifting,
allowing me to look down an avoid direct eye contact, but that second of connection caused
goosebumps to break out across my body. Despite my reaction, I knew I had been discovered,
but didn't make any moves. 'So what if I was observing you? I just happen to be more
sensitive than others, a little surprising but nothing strange!'
Sure enough, the man only gave me a courtesy once-over before he stopped paying any
attention. Then, perhaps satisfied or merely bored, he turned and left through an archway at
the back. Licking my lips, I began to seriously think about what to do. Saving the temple and
as many people as possible was the obvious goal, but how would I accomplish that? I wasn't
even a Dormant yet, I had just received the Spectator Sequence as an advance payment from
the Curator. While I could possible bamboozle and trick a few guards or vagrants with my
empath abilities, it offered no means to divert a horde of unyielding freaks soon to be
barrelling down on our doors. 'Heh, Spectator acting like a Swindler, who would have
thought?'
Right, first and foremost: exploring the area. I saw no obvious symbols or insignias on the
clothes of the two priests or half-a-dozen guards, and the vison didn't depict the temple with
any particular God's heraldry. Deeper in the temple was sure to do so however, so I got up
and dusted off my knees. Discreetly making my towards the arch the Saint had entered and
exited through, one of the guards spotted me but said nothing, just giving me a threatening
glare to make sure I didn't try anything. I flashed him a harmless smile, or tried to, and I
guess it convinced him since he just snorted and turned away. Passing through the openingrevealed multiple branching corridors, no signs or directions in sight. My keen eyes picked
up a smattering of footsteps on all of them, so that method was useless, until I just barely
picked out one pair different from the others. While it could have just been my imagination, I
had no other leads and so I began to walk the same hall as the footprints.
It led me deeper into the temple, and carvings began to appear on the walls. They were all
nonsense to me, vague and mighty figures battling each other, or inhuman beasts, or strange
shadowed objects. It was as likely to just be a generic myth as a true telling of a battle, so I
paid little attention to them. After nearly two minutes, the corridor opened to another
chamber, but this one had a door leading to what seemed to be a garden, based on the green
and sunlight visible through the arch. The chamber I was currently in held far more allure to
me though, because it had a statue centred in front. A colossal humanoid, its gender was
vague but seemed to be leaner towards masculine. A loose robe that only fully covered the
chest and torso, leaving the arms uncovered and legs loose, was drabbed across him, and his
face was blank except for the inscribed mouth, nose and eyes. An expressionless and
detached deity, purposelessly genderless and open to interpretation. Though I doubt any
mortal dared to due so. His identity was known to me not through this statue, but the emblem
of a blazing sun above it. The Sun God, the Lord of Light, the Deity of Passion and
Destruction.
'Well, that makes my being here all the more intriguing'
From what the Spell showed me, the fate of this temple was to be consumed by the forces of
darkness. Yet until the end, I saw no depictions of resistance or struggle. This temple
worshipped the Sun God, not the Goddess of War, but I still expected a bitter fight till the
end, especially against such profaned enemies. But the light was extinguished and all souls
seeking its comfort destroyed. 'Did something go wrong? Did the temple leadership perish
before the final battle, leaving the survivors unable to conjure effective resistance? Did that
Shadow Awakened have something to do with it? Hmm, I can't remember if Shadow and Sun
have any deep-rooted hatred towards each other. War certainly seemed to despise Her brother,
but the rest are somewhat ambiguous. Sunny and Nephis are are a pretty shitty example to
use too...'
I sighed and turned to enter the garden, the room barren of anything else of use and at least
one question answered. The garden was as beautiful as it appeared from the outside, glowing
in the amber sunlight with birds and insects chirping beyond view. At the centre was a pool
of water, no fountain, but rather seemed to bubble up from underground. The water was also
beautiful, a honeyed gold that shimmered. The middle-aged Saint was there, on both knees
and seemingly in prayer. He leant forward and scooped up the water with both hands, not
drinking it but rather washing his face. I moved towards him slowly but resolutely. I had no
doubt he had detected my presence, so I didn't want to appear weak or timid. When I was
only seven or six feet away, he called out to me.
"You seem to be lost, boy. There is nothing in this garden for your kind."
"Am I being kicked out?" I asked with a raised eyebrow. "Is this place forbidden to visitors?"
"No," the Saint surprisingly chuckled at that, though it was sharp and short. "I merely mean
that there is quite literally nothing for you, a wanderer, to find or do here. This garden is justan ordinary spot, one I visit because I like the tranquillity. There's nothing special about the
pool either-it's just an underground spring that was blessed by the Venerable One some time
ago. So, you should head back before your friends or family become worried."
"I'm alone," I state calmly, causing the Saint to turn and look at me for the first time. "My
village...it was destroyed in the conflict. I was out gathering wood for the fire when it
happened. Apart from me, there were only a few survivors but we later split up."
My confidence to lie came from Spectator abilities, as well as the fact Saints can't
automatically see through all falsehoods. While Saint Tyris had interrogated Sunny, he had
managed to fool her with his half-truths and misdirection. I was also banking on the thought
that the Saint wouldn't bother to peer too deep into my backstory-why would he, after all?
Sure enough, he sighed sorrowfully and shook his head. The motion reminded me of Father
Malachi, and for a moment my throat tightened. "I am sorry for what you have gone through,
child, I truly am," he began. "For the past few months, the world seems to have gone mad.
The followers of the Gods have turned on each other, the armies of the underworld pillage
and destroy everything they can get their hands on, undeath and vile evil even I cannot
comprehend breeds unopposed amongst the carnage and through it all the Lord is silent.
Several of my brothers and sisters fear that we have been forsaken."
I looked at the Saint in surprise, not expecting him to just unload all his fears and doubts onto
a random and complete stranger. Furthermore, the fact his faith wavered in the Sun God was
a massive shocker: while maybe not as much as the followers of War, the believers of Sun in
the Chained Isles were still zealous and demented in their belief. Seeing this on my face, the
Saint gave a wry smile. By this point, I was doubting my own judgement: what I thought was
a no-nonsense stern old man seemed to actually be closer to a kind, fatigued uncle. "Are you
taken aback by the truth in my words? I myself could scarcely believe them when the
thoughts first appeared. But as time went by and no response cam from neither the Lord nor
the Venerable One, and the reports grew more and more horrifying, I came to understand that
we were facing a greater scourge than even what was present in the Age of Heroes."
I fell silent at this, an inkling of why the temple had fallen so easily in the original timeline. If
their strongest fighter was already pessimistic and prepared to give up, what chance did the
weaker have? Taking a deep breathe and steeling myself, I stepped closer and spoke with a
lid voice-
"Sir, I beg of you, please allow me to become a Priest!"