To say I was shocked would be like saying World War II had big consequences-the bloody
understatement of the century. I had just brought a character from a novel to life. Yes, I was
living inside another story right now, possessing the template of a 2D character, but this was
different. This was made by my own hands. I had Envisioned the actual Sasrir!
Or had I? The Deputy of Heaven only had a very brief appearance in the story, and he was
basically a blank book in regards to the lore. How such of the "Sasrir" before me was based
on Lord of the Mysteries and how much was just me and my theories bundled into a new
shape? As downright philosophical as that though was, I had no more time to ponder it.
"Before you ask," he said, his dark eyes fixed on mine, "I only know what you know, up to
the moment we split. I am your shadow. A part of you."
I finally found my voice, though it came out a bit hoarse. "I... gathered that much. It was what
I had desired after all But what part, exactly? My selfishness? My anger?"
He offered a small, thin smile that didn't reach his eyes. "Those are far too simple. I am the
part that feels guilty for manipulating Theron, even though it was necessary. I am the desire
to just take what we want instead of playing this long game. I am every impatient, selfish,
and... less than noble thought you've ever had and quickly locked away. Your inhibitions are
gone. I am what's left."
It was a bizarrely clinical way to hear my own flaws described. He wasn't a raging monster;
he was a calm, collected repository of everything I considered my weaknesses.
"So you're my id," I said, the old psychology term surfacing from a college class.
"If you wish to label it," he replied, standing up with a fluid, silent motion. "I am the
functionality you removed to operate more efficiently in this place. You are the rational mind,
the planner. I am the emotional weight and the moral compromise you no longer have to
carry."
"So you take away all my hesitation and fear of consequences? But wait, what's the
difference between you and say, the characteristics Amon would possess?"
"Hmm. I would say...Amon would be cowardice, mischief, apathy and hedonism. He would
pursue anything and everything, content with chasing temporary pleasures for eternity. I, on
the other hand, am just you. Your reflection, with all the dust and grime wiped off. I would
not destroy lives just for a quick thrill or on an impulse. I have more sense than that. I would
do whatever it takes to acquire what I desire, but I am satisfied with my current state. I would
also be willing to die for what I believe in, while Amon obviously would not."
"And perhaps most of," he smiled at me now with more warmth now. "I do have people and
emotions I care about. I will act as I want, and protect those I hold close to me."And awkward silence came between us and I almost felt myself blush before forcing myself
to snap out of it. "Well, as cringe as it is to hear what's essentially myself say such things, it's
good to know to take after the Ancient Sun God more than the True Creator at least."
A noncommittal hum was the response.
He looked around the Corpse Cathedral, staring at the dimmer Soul Core and the transformed
cross behind it. "It seems we have a division of labor."
I took a deep breath, the initial shock giving way to a strange sense of relief. The constant,
low-level hum of guilt and frustration that had been my background noise since the
nightmare was just... gone. It was all sitting across from me, contained in a separate vessel.
"It does," I said, meeting his gaze. "Just remember whose will is paramount."
"Of course," he said, his voice a soft whisper laced with twinges of amusement. "I am a part
of you. Your word is my command."
But the way he said it, so calm and assured, left a lingering question in the air. A part of me
wondered if I had just neatly organized my psyche, or if I had created a problem far more
complex than any I'd face in the Dream Realm. No, he said it himself, he held my full
perspective, just with a different view on things. I wasn't the type to obsess over being "the
original" like in some stories, as long as I could live happily and safely. "Sasrir" shouldn't
deviate from that either. Realizing I had spent a long time in my Soul Sea, I dismissed it and
found myself back in my room. Only when I opened my eyes, Sasrir was still there, looking
at me.
Slightly taken aback, I raised an eyebrow. "You can appear by yourself without me
summoning you?"
"look down" was all he said. Upon doing so, my pupils constricted. "Where's my shadow?
Wait a second-"
Before I could finish, Sasrir melted into a black blob and rushed at me, joining at my feet and
taking the form of my shadow before I could even react. Then, after five seconds, he
detached and manifested once again. "Bloody hell, are you Sasrir or Sunny? Hold on,
Shadow Travel!? What Rank-er, Sequence are you?"
"Sequence 7, Shadow Ascetic. "
"Bloody Hell" I nearly shouted at that, my excitement overflowing my Spectator mask I had
prepared. "You're just a Dormant Beast right? How did you manage that?"
"Balance" Sasrir responded succinctly. Seeing my confused look, he let out a small chuckle
and spread his hands. "Secrets Suppliant is basically useless here since anyone who can
respond to Ritualistic Magic is either dead or completely insane. My high Spirituality might
provide a boon while using Sorcery, but that will have to wait until I become an Ascended
anyways. As for the powers of a Listener...If I didn't have the Shadow Ascetic's ability to turn
it off, I would probably die just by walking near a Nightmare Gate. Therefore, ShadowAscetic really is the first Sequence that will actually help me survive. At least your
Spectator/Telepathist works on other people."
Well, that made sense. In Lod of the Mysteries, the weaknesses of the Hanged Man Pathway
in Low Sequences could be made up for with Sealed Artefacts or just praying to the True
Creator, but "He" obviously isn't here right now-unless you count me because of my True
Name-and Memories aren't quite so easy to gain without killing for them yourself.
"Did you also receive a status from the Spell?" I asked with curiosity.
Sasrir was silent for a bit before, to my shock, runes similar but different to my own appeared
before my eyes. Huh, I didn't know that was possible...Well, Shadow Bond did it after all, so
maybe it's not that strange.
****************************************************
Name: Sasrir
True Name: -
Rank: Dreamer.
Soul Core: Beast [1/7].
Memories: -
Echoes: —
Attributes: [Uniqueness of Hanged Man], [Flame of Divinity], [Virtual Persona].
Aspect: [Hanged Man].
Aspect Rank: [Divine].Aspect Description: [The Hanged Man Pathway represents Degeneration, but also sacrifice
and responsibility in a positive sense. They are the Master of Degeneration, the Incarnation of
Corruption and the Maker of Flesh and Blood. Through Grazing, they can be considered
Omnipotent with the potential to be Omniscient.]
Aspect Abilities: [Secrets Suppliant, Listener, Shadow Ascetic, ???, ???, ???, ???, ???, ???,
Hanged Man].
[Secrets Suppliant: A Secrets Suppliant is bestowed with a decent amount of knowledge
regarding sacrifices and some knowledge on Ritualistic Magic. The knowledge attached to
the potion given will more or less cause distortions in a Secrets Suppliants' cognitive
perspectives and thus make it easy for them to lose control. Secrets Suppliants have a
high Spiritual Perception which they can use it to detect some mysterious and horrible
existences. They can use their strong Spirituality to perform Divination and Ritualistic
Magic, but it's not as accurate as Pathways that specialize in this field. Their High Spirituality
also allows them to detect auras of relatively powerful Awakened (provided that those
Awakened did not conceal their aura beforehand).]
[Listener: Every Listener can Listen directly into the whispers of the secret entities; thus, they
frequently come into contact with information from powerful, distorted, and unique
entities. While they can obtain powerful, twisted, and unique abilities, if they cannot advance
in Sequence, it would be difficult for them to survive for more than 5 years. Every Listener is
a lunatic - even if they look normal on the surface and behave normally at ordinary times,
they are always crazy on the inside. Even if they don't actively use Listening, one will hear
more than ordinary people and most of the Low-Mid Sequence Beyonders within a normal
area. When the source of the sound is close enough to them, a Listener will be more affected
and will receive more dangerous information. At this stage, this Beyonder power is always
active (in a passive state). At later Sequences, they can choose whether or not to proactively
use it. Their spiritual sense is also further enhanced.]
[Hanged Man: The True God presiding over the domain of Degeneration/Depravity, an
amalgamation of Black Shadows and Writhing Flesh, possessing five heads and the
corresponding Shadows. "He" holds partial authority over the domains
of Shadow, Darkness, Degeneration/Depravity, Corruption, and Mutation, while also
embodying the concepts and partial Symbolism of Sin-Bearing and Sacrifice.]
Flaw: Hanged ManFlaw Description: When damage or pain is suffered by others in your vicinity, you will suffer
it in their stead (only applies to those recognised as allies, but can affect both Humans and
Echoes).
***********************************************************
I blinked. "The Hanged Man Pathway, as expected. And... Scapegoat?" The implications
were immediately clear. He was designed to endure suffering, to take on the burdens of those
around him, whether he wanted to or not. The Spell claimed the Flaw would only work on
those designated as allies, but I was sure the final decision was in its' own hands, not mine or
his.
Sasrir studied the text as well, his expression one of cold analysis. "Sequence 9 Secrets
Suppliant, Sequence 8 Listener, Sequence 7 Shadow Ascetic. The Flaw is logical. I am your
shadow, your negative aspect. It is fitting I would also be your shield for such things."
"But you skipped Sequences," I pointed out. "You started at Sequence 7. Can you even
progress?"
"That is the question," he murmured, pacing a silent circle in the small room. "The
conventional method would be to 'digest' the previous Sequence Potions retroactively. But we
possess no Potions, or even Beyonder Characteristics. This power was not imbibed; it was
woven from your essence and my... nature."
He stopped, looking at his own hands as if seeing them for the first time. "The alternative is
that this is not a Pathway in the traditional sense, but a reflection of your own power's
interpretation of it. In which case, progression may not come from 'Acting' but from
'Awakening'—from simply accumulating more power and allowing the Aspect to mature
naturally, as any other Awakened would."
A wry, almost mocking smile touched his lips. "Of course, this assumes the 'Acting Method'
is even a viable concept here for us. Your own progression to Telepathist was a reward, a
final gift from the Curator to set you on the path. We have no proof it is a system we can
replicate. We may simply be... Awakened. With unusual starting points."
The thought was sobering. My cheat code might have been a one-time welcome package.
Everything from here on out might be just as hard for me as it was for everyone else.
"Then we operate on that assumption," I said, the planner in me taking over. "We proceed as
if we are standard Awakened. You train your abilities, I train mine. We accumulate power,
Essence, and Memories. We see how—or if—the Aspect develops further."
Sasrir gave a slow, graceful nod. "A prudent course of action. I will bear the pain, and you
will wield the vision. We shall see what grows from this division. Of course, we do still have
the problem of how you will explain a Sleeper with a startling resemblance to you suddenly
appeared in your room, with no identification in any system."Ah...right. I was so distracted by what was happening, I never actually thought about how I
was going to explain the existence of my newfound comrade. Sneak him into the group?
Might work for a few days, but someone would catch on quickly enough, if only because
Sasrir was so damn conspicuous. The wings had vanished when he entered the real world
thankfully, but the ever-present cloak of shadows over his face and upper body was damn
attention grabbing. As for his claim of us being nearly identical? Well, I couldn't see his face
so I'd take his word for it. Anyways, we couldn't both walk out of here.
"Attach yourself to my shadow for now, I'll let you out when I need you. Can we talk
mentally?"
"Yes, but my senses will be blurry and distant while in shadow form. I won't be able to read
your mind, so you'll need to explain things clearly to me. There's also the threat of someone
sensing my gaze from your shadow. The Shadow Ascetic has been detected before."
"Understood. Well then, see you later."
With that, Sasrir vanished once again and I regained my shadow. After stepping side-to-side
to see if any reaction came up, I stopped when nothing happened. Sasrir hadn't made himself
known in my head either, so I guess he was either sleeping or simply couldn't be bothered
talking. I leaned towards the latter, if he inherited my antisocial tendencies. I took a deep
breath and exhaled it, returning to my normal, unflappable state of polite kindness. Sasrir's
words had put the reminder in my head that I may not be able to advance through the Acting
Method anymore, but I couldn't feel any digestion in the First Nightmare until it suddenly
happened. If I had made any progress as a Telepathist, I was none the wiser.
I thought about the absence of a True Name for Sasrir but it wasn't too surprising: the Spell
was extremely picky about that sort of thing and I doubt the Curator was invested enough to
meddle so deeply. If my Dark Angel friend wanted to get a True Name, he would need to
earn it in the Dream Realm. Still, I wondered what he would get. The Hanged Man? The
Deputy of Heaven? Left Hand of God? The Shepherd? My mind ran wild with references and
possibilities for a bit before I shelved them away in the part of my brain reserved for
nonsense. That would come later, nobody could even know he existed, what was the point of
having a True Name to brag about?
Shadow Ascetic was a true Mid-Sequence Beyonder with a hell of a punch if used correctly.
Summoning shadow monsters, destroying souls through shadows, tangling up foes,
subjecting them to their own madness...it was definitely a combat Attribute. In a fight, ten of
me would be necessary to beat him, if not more. My constitution received a certain
improvement, but I really had no advantage or even equalizer in any regard. Is this how
Sunny felt when he got Saint? Lagging behind your own Echo? Heh, maybe if I get to the
Forgotten Shore after all I'll nab that stone beauty. Honestly a waste on Sunny.
I checked the clock and realized it was almost time for dinner. Cracking my shoulders with a
yawn, I left my room and made my way towards the cafeteria. I still had many months left
before the Dream Realm called me in, and I still had much to learn. With Sasrir around, I
could consider things I would normally overlook or perhaps shun, and I had a gut feeling he
would quickly become invaluable in the future. Well, that made sense: he was another me
after all.And I always liked to take care of myself.Chapter 12: Time Flying By, future mischief planning
The weeks bled into months with a rhythm that was both gruelling and satisfying. Living
with Sasrir was like having a live-in, brutally honest critic who was also a part of my own
brain. His presence was a constant mirror, and the reflection was… illuminating.
It started with the small things. I'd flop onto my bed after a long day of theory classes,
mentally making an excuse to skip the Academy's state-of-the-art gym. 'What's the point?'
I'd think. 'I'm not going to build a superhero physique in eight months. My power is mental,
anyway.'
A wave of cold, patronizing distaste would waft from the corner where Sasrir sat, silent and
still. He didn't need to say anything. The emotion was his, but the source was all me. He was
the embodiment of that shortsighted excuse, and feeling it reflected back at me from a
separate entity was like a splash of cold water. It was stupid. It was the kind of lazy, defeatist
thinking I'd supposedly left behind.
The Curator hadn't given me this head start just for me to show up to the Dream Realm with
the same soft body I'd had in my old life. I had time, resources, and the best nutrition money
couldn't even buy—it was provided by a terrified government. Wasting that was an oversight
of monumental proportions.
So I started. Not with weights, not at first. That felt too much like a chore. I went back to
basics, to things I'd actually enjoyed in my previous life. I signed up for the rock-climbing
wall, relearning the feel of chalk on my hands and the burn of holding a difficult pose. I hit
the Olympic-sized pool, the mindless, rhythmic laps of swimming becoming a moving
meditation that shut up the constant analytical noise in my head. I I ended up in the Forgotten
Shore, I would need to know how to swim for sure.
After about a month of that, the gym didn't seem so daunting. It became a logic puzzle. This
machine targets this muscle group, this exercise creates this kind of functional strength.
It was slow, frustrating work. At fifteen, and after a lifetime of decent but not exceptional
nutrition, I was starting from behind. There were no miraculous growth spurts, just the slow,
stubborn accumulation of effort. I'd look in the mirror after a month and see barely any
change. But Sasrir's silent presence was a perpetual goad. He judged me for my weakness,
openly scowling every time I neared quitting. The best thing about him? While I worked out,
he would read up on all the theory for me. He could spend hours at the desk, flipping through
old books and electronic screens, to the point I wondered if he was actually a Reader and not
a Secrets Suppliant.
By the five-month mark, the logic puzzle had paid off. The boy who'd arrived at the
Academy was gone. The softness had been replaced by defined muscle, a broader set to my
shoulders, a strength that wasn't just potential anymore—it was real. I wouldn't be winning
any physique competitions, but I no longer looked like a stiff breeze would knock me over. I
looked like someone who could survive.It was more than physical. That same ruthless self-audit, sparked by Sasrir's existence,
extended to everything. I scrutinized my study habits, my social interactions, my
understanding of Essence Every lazy assumption, every fear-driven avoidance, was dragged
out into the light and dissected.
It was like if Sin of Solace was actually good and helpful, rather than the master rage baiter
that he was. Still, Sasrir was quite the vicious shit-talker when he wanted to be too, as after a
altercation between me and some Legacy lackey, he had exploded with a series of cuss words
I wouldn't dare repeat to my mother. For a second, I thought he would directly jump out of
my shadow and strangle the ignorant bastard, but he managed to restrain himself in the end.
Still, my flickering shadow told me we needed to have a chat.
"It's because of my Listener powers" he explained once we alone in my dorm. "I've been
hearing things lately, the rustle of Memories and Echoes, the hum of Essence running through
circuits, and their are a few abilities related t sound that do my head in. It's fine at first, by by
the end of a week I feel like breaking someone's neck."
"Sounds like you need to vent," I sighed, rubbing my face.
"Yeah, no kidding I need to vent," Sasrir muttered, the shadow he was leaning against
seeming to drink the light from the room. "It's like having a constant, high-pitched whine in
the back of my skull that only I can hear. Every footstep in the hall is a thunderclap. I can
hear the hum of the fluorescent lights. I swear I can even hear the rustle of that idiot's cheap
polyester jacket from earlier." He shot a dark look towards the door. "It makes me want to
peel my own ears off. Or his."
I leaned back in my chair, processing this. The Hanged Man Pathway's Listener sequence
was all about listening—to secrets, to the unseen, to the whispers of the spiritual world. It
made a twisted kind of sense that it would come with a massive sensitivity to sound. A
classic supernatural trade-off.
"Sounds like the Curator tweaked your Sequence," I mused. "Maybe gave you the sensory
overload of a Listener but paired it with the negatives of an Ascetic from the Eternal Aeon
Pathway. You know, the whole 'endure immense suffering to achieve inner peace' thing. Since
you can turn off the Listener power normally, he made it so mundane sounds are enhanced
instead?"
Sasrir let out a short, humourless bark of laughter. "Sounds like something a right bastard
would do, so probably."
I thought for a moment. "We need to find you an outlet, but we can't exactly just let you
wander the hallways at night to practise by yourself. The cameras would pick you up, and
blocking them out would just raise alarms. I can try and get a dummy target memory if I
can?"
"If that's our best option."
I couldn't get a dummy in fact, but I was allowed to take a sturdy punching bag back with me.
It had a self-repair function, though that was the effect of an Aspect because the bag itselfwasn't a Memory. Whoever had the ability to repair things was probably filthy rich working
for the Government, since Sasrir's trashing recovered within an hour. He seemed much more
content afterwards, but I still mentally checked myself that my shadow wasn't as friendly as
he appeared to me: he was potentially balancing over the abyss at any moment.
**************************************
Yeah, the mood around the Academy definitely shifted as the days got shorter. The casual
arrogance of the Legacy kids faded into a tense, quiet focus. The rest of us, the Sleepers
who'd clawed our way through a First Nightmare, just got… grim. The jokes stopped. The
cafeteria was quieter. You'd see people staring into space during lectures, and more than a
few had that pale, hollow-eyed look of someone who isn't sleeping.
It got to me, too. The weight of what was coming was a constant pressure. I'd be studying in
the library and swear I heard a faint, rustling whisper just at the edge of my hearing. I'd snap
my head up, but there'd be nothing there. Just the hum of the lights and the rustle of pages. I
wrote it off as pre-game jitters, my brain manufacturing its own ghosts.
Sasrir, of course, was perfectly fine. If anything, the growing tension seemed to amuse him.
He'd sit in the corner of my room, a smirk playing on his lips as I tried to ignore the non-
existent whispers.
"It's not in your head," he said one evening, his voice cutting through the silence like a shard
of ice.
I looked up from my textbook. "What isn't?"
"The whispering. It's not your imagination playing tricks." He tilted his head, his dark eyes
distant, as if tuning into a faint radio signal. "My Listener ability has been picking it up for a
week now. A very low, steady throb. Like a heartbeat under the floorboards."
I sat up straighter, my Spectator instincts kicking in, analysing his micro-expressions for any
hint of a lie. Then I remembered I couldn't see his face.
"It's faint," he continued, "but it's growing stronger every day. It's not words. Not yet. It's
more like… a pressure. A psychic tide pulling at the edges of this reality. The Dream Realm
is getting closer. It's whispering its arrival."
A cold knot tightened in my stomach. It wasn't just anxiety. It was real. The boundary
between our world and the nightmare was thinning, and we could feel it. Sasrir, with his
cursed hearing, could feel it clearer than anyone.
"So it's really happening," I said, my voice quieter than I intended.
"It is," he confirmed, that sharp smile returning. "The waiting is almost over. The real fun is
about to begin."
Somehow, his version of "fun" did nothing to settle my nerves. The whispers I'd been hearing
weren't a trick of my mind; they were the first distant echoes of the storm. And it was comingright for us. The nerves must have shown on my face, our maybe our bond was simply that
deep, but Sasrir came over to me and put his hand on my shoulder. "Relax. Sunny survived
with Fated despite being a a slum rat with four weeks of training, while we've had six
months. My Aspect is basically superior to his in every way too, and you have as many Cores
as Nephis did by the end of the Forgotten Shore Arc. We can't be separated by the Spell
either, so what's there to worry about?"
"We could get Godgrave," I muttered to myself. "Or the Burning Desert. We know barely
anything about the latter since the story never covered it up to where we read, and Godgrave
is simply the nesting ground for Corrupted and Great monsters. We're not the Lord of
Shadows, we can't just lull a dozen of them to sleep with Nightmare Steed."
"Panic changes nothing" my shadow countered, pressing more firmly down on my shoulder.
"Calm yourself Adam. You created me to share your burden, so trust in me to do so."
Taking in his words, I loosed my breath and exhaled. "Thanks, Sassy."
"Don't call me that" he answered in annoyance, flicking the back of my head.
He was right. I was as well prepared as any Legacy for my Awakening. I had Sasrir, the
Unshadowed Crucifix, and the expectations of a God watching from above. I didn't even have
the plot device that was Lost from Rizz or Autistic Star following me around. "It's a shame
we never got to actually test out your Aspect though. For instance, can you strike shadows to
kill weaker foes directly?"
"I'm a Dormant Beast," he responded dryly. "I don't think there is anything weaker than me."
"Eh, there's that Scavenger thing that Fiend evolved from, you know, the one that hunted
Sunny all the way across Antarctica and even devoured some of his power. Wait, that reminds
me! Can you also absorb the Heart of Darkness or Ruby Core dropped by that Black Knight
in the Dark City Cathedral?"
"If I can miraculously kill an Ascended Devil and a Corrupted Terror without being
eviscerated or eaten alive, then sure, I could try my luck...what kind of stupid question is
that? Do you really want me to die that much?"
"Relax bro, it was just a thought..." I raised my hands in defence and muttered while looking
away. "Still, it's worth thinking about, how to evolve our Aspects beyond the Acting Method
or Path of Ascension."
"In that case, you might as well consider the Defilement of the Estuary" Sasrir mocked me
sarcastically. "I think you would make a lovely Mad Prince."
"Nah, I'm definitely the Dread Lord. A Black Dragon that can command the hearts and minds
of others? It was practically made for me. Ah, that would make Amon the Soul Snatcher and
Medici the Undying Slaughter or Beast. And Ouroboros would make a fitting Torment."
"So I would be either Beast or Slaughter, or the Mad Prince? Hmm, given my later state in
Lord of the Mysteries, I suppose being a being associated with a deranged sovereign does fit.I still don't like it though."
"Yeah well, we won't be entering the Tomb of Ariel for a long while anyways, so it's fine."
"So you plan to do so eventually?"
I laughed at that, leaning back in my chair and smirking at him. "But of course! I already
have a little plan forming in this noggin' of mine, though I'll need several years and for all of
us to be a Master for it to work. Oh, and only if I can indeed unlock a new Envisioning perk
after completing a Nightmare. Don't bother asking, I'll tell you when it's ready-"
"You plan to steal Sunny's True Name and Fate?" Sasrir raised an eyebrow.
I sat up and stared at him with my mouth open before closing it and coughing sheepishly.
"How did you guess?"
"Because," Sasrir was rolling his eyes now, "we share the same origin, and I naturally thought
of that too. Let me guess, you plan to envision Amon and have him use Theft after the Vile
Thieving Bird plucks out the strings. It's a good idea, but I doubt it'll work that easily. The
Bird is a Cursed Terror that hoodwinked a Divine Daemon and multiple Void Creatures.
Amon would need to be at least a Saint or have Parasite level Theft to even contend with it.
And the former means he won't even be able to show up in the Tomb."
"That's why I said not to ask me about it" I waved my hand impatiently. "I'm still trying to
work around that stuff."
"Sigh, you've already mentioned your plan to steal away Stone Saint, Weaver's Mask and the
Blood Weave. Are you sure you're not actually Amon is disguise?"
"I'm just brainstorming," I shrugged. "Following the plot to the letter is just boring, don't you
think? And beside, we have an active audience to impress. If we do well, the Curator hinted
at some rewards, or maybe real-time assistance. Besides, if I want to become an Author, I
need my own experience in writing scripts. I'm thinking of playing the "ancient and unknown
Deity slowly awakening or recovery from his slumber" trope. Maybe add in a few murals,
dash my Honorific Name across some walls, that sort of thing."
"I can't tell if you're imitating Klein or Shadow with that method" Sasrir muttered, causing
me to smile. "Who says it's one or the other? Maybe I'll drop an "Atomic" right after flexing
all my lore knowledge. Heh, I can imagine Cassie's face when I know even more than she
does."
Sasrir's head snapped up at her name. "Can the witch pry into our Fates? I'm just an extension
of you, but your currently body is an actual citizen of this world, with a past and history. You
might not be able to avoid her eyes" he warned.
"That's why I need Weaver's mask" I said, serious this time. "Sunny was being led around the
nose by Cassie and Nephis with it anyways, at most it blocked out Mordret's spying for a bit
but didn't change anything. It would have far more use in my hands than in his. A DivineMemory...even up to as far as we read before getting dropped in here, there wasn't a second,
right? Can you imagine what we could do with something like that?!"
Seeing the fanatical look on my face, Sasrir just sighed and retreated into shadow form, his
last words echoing in my head.
"Just don't let Amon use it, he'll be trouble enough as is and we really don't need to embolden
him."