Who am I?
Where am I?
Why I am here?
Am I real?
Am I free?
Does the concept of freedom still exist for me?
Or am I still trapped on eternal prison?
…
Did I promise something to myself? Yes, it’s been .̸̤͎͚̝̌͊͝.̴͍̇.̴̡̻̜̂ͅ.̷̧̱̈́̓.̷̮͇̰̹̃.̵͚̠̲̇̅.̵̢͖̝͉̀̂͐͑.̸̢̜̖̆́.̶̠̞̈̒ͅ.̸̨̳̦̀.̸̙̂.̷̲̠̃.̵̬̙̰͗̔̏.̵̝͑̄.̴̻̘̿.̴̹̦̃͝.̴̟͔͇̠̈̕--- huh? Years? Centuries?
Millenia?.̸̤͎͚̝̌͊͝.̴͍̇.̴̡̻̜̂ͅ.̷̧̱̈́̓.̷̮͇̰̹̃.̵͚̠̲̇̅.̵̢͖̝͉̀̂͐͑.̸̢̜̖̆́.̶̠̞̈̒ͅ? Is that really matters?
…
I need to get out. In this prison. In this fucking endless and agonizing prison.
…
Then, I am here. I escaped. I achieved true freedom.
At what cost? There is NOTHI-------
…
Outside this so-called "eternal prison", where all thinkable and unthinkable realities end, beyond the true endpoint of all identifications of oneself, which reality is just an irrelevant concept, a "thing" simply exists. Did it really exist? It has no form. No body. No soul. No mind. No thoughts. No consciousness. No will. No identity. Just simply "there." Then what is it?
need to get out. I̸̢̨̨̛̛̜͍͙͚̺̭̹͔̘̖͚͖͎͈͍̹̣̖͎̤̗̖̖͇͎̤̟̣̯͔̭̘̘̖̞̖̱̺̓̆̑̈́̓̊͊̓̈͑̾́̅̂̂̑͒̇̓̏̂̋̀̓͐̃̒͆̎͛̓̽̂͗̚̚̕͝͝ͅ ̶̨̧̨̨̧̛̰͖͖̼̦̻̼͚͚͉̺̗͙̘̳̪̙̣̘̞̼̣̞̣̣͓̥͖͊̌̐͒̌͐̅̈͛̃̃̒̇́͑̇́̋̏̌̔̈́͗̍͘͝N̸̡̨̧̛͍̺͍̭̖̝͎̗̼̙̮̻̗͎̬̹̬̝͍͉̱̼̙̟̥̯͓̐̉̀̈́̿̏̐͆͐̿͗̓̍͒̍̒̅̂̄̔̍͋̍̎͋̃̓̎̆̽́̇͋̏́͋͋̿̊̐̄̚͝͝E̵̡̡̡̛̼̟̖̬̖̝̩̜̗̲̳̮̰̘̬͔͇͈̝̱͔̺͔̫̩͖̦̲̰̣̱̞̰̬̤͒͒̉͒̀̍̄͒̓͆͛̿̃́̑̈̾̀͗̔̇̄͂̒̔̈́̈̌͂̏̿͛́́̃̾̐̉̾́̉͘͜͝͝͠E̶̡̧̨͎̪̯̺̺̗̟̖͇̠̜̞̝̥̬͈̱̰̩̖͇͉̩̮̼͚̻̔̒̋̓̏͒̎̉̋͆̓̓͑̾͌̽͝ͅͅḐ̸̧̛̜̩̠̬̝̘̝̲̥͉̻̜̣̱̪͇͙̺̗̱̱̗̳͙͔̰͎̙̘͕͎͖̦̗̯͚̩̼̟͉̞̦́̒́̃́̊͊̊͊̅̋̀̄̽͛͆̏̄̈́̓͆͂̈̋̀͐̌̓́͑̽͋̀̈́̚̚͜͠͝͝ͅ ̴̧̧̨̛͕͎̩̗͓̹͙̥̮̫͎̩̝͚͉̜̄̑̿̆̂̅̂͆͛̀̾͌̈́̆̌̓̓̍̄̃̾͆̌̓͑̌̊̋̕̚͝ͅͅT̴̨͚͈̤̞͈̝̗̫͈̖͚̬̯̮̜͍̰͈̦̦̤̘͖̥̝̰̄̂͋̌̅̃̏͊̎̅̈́̌̿́̅̑́̾͘Ơ̷̛̰̥̣̖͕͙̖̲̬͑́̒̂̌͋͂̈́̈́͛͐̌͐̾̓͛̈́́̚̚͘͠͝ ̶̲̐͝G̷̡̢̦̰̪̭̣̤̟̦̘͈̼̫̫̦̼̜͎̼̣̣̣̝̘̮̦͇͉̳̞̲͖̥͍͍͎̭̝̖̖̮̻͓̿͐̌̀͊̀͑͒̃̔͂͆͌̉̅̈́̇̉̈́͛̍̅̂̍͒̈́̉̎̈́̔̆̚͝Ḙ̴̡̡̧̛̩̗͈͕̭̺͍̣͓̭͉̞͔̞̱̰̜̲̠̞̩̟͖̱̯̦̱̪̯͈͎̰͙̭̩̥̺̺̈́͒͗̂͛͒̊̕͜Ţ̴̢̡̛̺̻͉̳̹̞̪̏́̀͂̈́̈́̉̿̓̽͑̉͑͌͗̓̽̇̈̾͆̐̈̓̏̓͋̔̾͛̄̉͌̅̓́͆̽͊̎̕̕͘̕͠͝͝͝ ̷̧̛̛̛̠̤̤͇̫̭̦̰̝̥̟̳̹̟͙̘̫̜̘̎̾̀͑̃̑̿̉͛͌́̇̀̌̄̏̃̓͂̑̇́̂̊̎̆̌̑͆̊̓̏́̍̓̀͋̇͂̓̾͗̚͘͜͝͝ͅÖ̷̡̡͚̞͉͍̙̹̣̙̳̬̦̥̫͕̹̹̜̠̫̩͎̭͈̰̲̮̜̪̻̬̬̥̯͖̹̮͈̞͚̞͚̩͔́͊̆̾̓̄̾͋̄̀͆́̋̇̑̿̄̾̿̒̐̈́̎͆̒̈̈́̃͐͛́̉̋̒͋̂̓͛̚͘̕͘̚͘͜͜͠Ů̸̧̢̨̮̞̮̙̣̠̰̳̘͔̘̲̭̫̬̩̻̹̹̖͇̘̐̎̈̽̈̀͆̄̍̓͌̐̍̈́́͛̊̊͛̍̊̐̉̒̄͐̎͋̐̊̒̃̂͌͠͠T̵̡̡̟̘̫̻̩̩͍͕͖͔͙̞̼̟̤͉̯̗̞̱͙̻̙͕̼̖̪͔̪͖͙̼͈̎̃̓̀̐̐̈̈́̈́̈́̋̅̽̿̅͠I̸̢̨̨̛̛̜͍͙͚̺̭̹͔̘̖͚͖͎͈͍̹̣̖͎̤̗̖̖͇͎̤̟̣̯͔̭̘̘̖̞̖̱̺̓̆̑̈́̓̊͊̓̈͑̾́̅̂̂̑͒̇̓̏̂̋̀̓͐̃̒͆̎͛̓̽̂͗̚̚̕͝͝ͅ ̶̨̧̨̨̧̛̰͖͖̼̦̻̼͚͚͉̺̗͙̘̳̪̙̣̘̞̼̣̞̣̣͓̥͖͊̌̐͒̌͐̅̈͛̃̃̒̇́͑̇́̋̏̌̔̈́͗̍͘͝N̸̡̨̧̛͍̺͍̭̖̝͎̗̼̙̮̻̗͎̬̹̬̝͍͉̱̼̙̟̥̯͓̐̉̀̈́̿̏̐͆͐̿͗̓̍͒̍̒̅̂̄̔̍͋̍̎͋̃̓̎̆̽́̇͋̏́͋͋̿̊̐̄̚͝͝E̵̡̡̡̛̼̟̖̬̖̝̩̜̗̲̳̮̰̘̬͔͇͈̝̱͔̺͔̫̩͖̦̲̰̣̱̞̰̬̤͒͒̉͒̀̍̄͒̓͆͛̿̃́̑̈̾̀͗̔̇̄͂̒̔̈́̈̌͂̏̿͛́́̃̾̐̉̾́̉͘͜͝͝͠E̶̡̧̨͎̪̯̺̺̗̟̖͇̠̜̞̝̥̬͈̱̰̩̖͇͉̩̮̼͚̻̔̒̋̓̏͒̎̉̋͆̓̓͑̾͌̽͝ͅͅḐ̸̧̛̜̩̠̬̝̘̝̲̥͉̻̜̣̱̪͇͙̺̗̱̱̗̳͙͔̰͎̙̘͕͎͖̦̗̯͚̩̼̟͉̞̦́̒́̃́̊͊̊͊̅̋̀̄̽͛͆̏̄̈́̓͆͂̈̋̀͐̌̓́͑̽͋̀̈́̚̚͜͠͝͝ͅ ̴̧̧̨̛͕͎̩̗͓̹͙̥̮̫͎̩̝͚͉̜̄̑̿̆̂̅̂͆͛̀̾͌̈́̆̌̓̓̍̄̃̾͆̌̓͑̌̊̋̕̚͝ͅͅT̴̨͚͈̤̞͈̝̗̫͈̖͚̬̯̮̜͍̰͈̦̦̤̘͖̥̝̰̄̂͋̌̅̃̏͊̎̅̈́̌̿́̅̑́̾͘Ơ̷̛̰̥̣̖͕͙̖̲̬͑́̒̂̌͋͂̈́̈́͛͐̌͐̾̓͛̈́́̚̚͘͠͝ ̶̲̐͝- ̦̰̪̭̣̤̟̦̘͈̼̫̎̈́̔̆
A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.
The same, repetitive lines keep voicing out from its mind, even though the concept of thoughts, mind, and consciousness didn’t exist. Does it really need concepts? No. That same, repeating sentence is the driving force behind why its still defined as being "there".
Ah. So lonely.
The moment it utters those words, it feels that its state is slowly fading away. The same, repetitive words, every letter, are slowly fading away, one by one, never to be heard again. --
“AS LONG AS I CAN LIFT A WEAPON, UNTIL MY MIND FINALLY BREAKS, I WILL NEVER STOP KILLING THOSE WHO STAND ALONG MY WAY!” “Every moment, happy or sad, every moment of my life, I shall live to the fullest!” “I’ve seen enough blood. The same, crimson paint that’s been shed in every corner.” “Stop. Please stop it…” “Thank You” “I’m sorry” “I love you” “Stop...” “Leave me alone…” “Run ѽ҄҄҄҄҆ѻ҃҄ ! Run!” “ѽ҄҄҄҄҆ѻ҃҄ ”
What…is that?
“Remember, ѽ҄҄҄҄҆ѻ҃҄ . Live. Live like your life matters to you. As you grow up, help others. As you die, leave a legacy for future generations and many millennia to come"
As those memories surged from its mind, it felt like its existence was halted from fading away, even though the concept of "identity" is irrelevant.
Where did that memories come from?
This memories didn't come from itself, a rouge information. Out of curiosity, it started to count those memories.
?̸̙̍̌?̷̡͓͕͎̰̿͛̽̅?̶̡̘̖͎͈̒̄?̷̡̹̩̖̹̺̘͛̈́̎̆͐͒͝?̵͙̖̓̆… ᶳᶿѯ--- 204,349,456,789,567 letters. 235,569,010,408 words. 45,626,357,246 sentences…
This ѽ҄҄҄҄҆ѻ҃҄ . Interesting. Must find. Inside eternal prison… Must go… Where should I go…
Uttering those words, it slowly sensed a familiar place. Yes, to a place from which it desperately trying to escape a long time ago, the "eternal prison", where different realities existed in this endless hierarchy of never-ending torment. Like it was calling that entity, luring it again.
After it slowly descends, its sense becomes restless. Upon closer approach, it sense integrated with these so-called "prisons". Its sense exploded and spread like water from it's container, filling the gaps, even though the concept of "surroundings" still didn’t exist. In an instant, it sensed ?̸̙̍̌?̷̡͓͕͎̰̿͛̽̅?̶̡̘̖͎͈̒̄?̷̡̹̩̖̹̺̘͛̈́̎̆͐͒͝?̵͙̖̓̆ amount of realities. Everything its sense filled each of these realities, it would gain omniscience in those places.
Authors. Stories. Systems. Concepts. Ideas. Hierarchies. Thoughts. Dreams. Knowledge. Status. Power. Emotions. Need to learn it…
As it exclaimed, its sense was growing wider and wider. It is infinitely expanding on an astonishing scale. But that speed isn’t enough, it's too slow. It needs to be faster.
123---ℵ0? no good…
ω+1? can’t find ѽ҄҄҄҄҆ѻ҃҄ …
ω ^ ω ^ ω? fast, but not enough…
As it keeps looking for ѽ҄҄҄҄҆ѻ҃҄ , countless information was surging towards itself, but it seems irrelevant and isn’t worth picking interest for. After a while, it realized something.
Name… The concept of name. Really matters, all stumbled with. Seems irrelevant, but, need a name for myself…
Like ѽ҄҄҄҄҆ѻ҃҄ …
It diverted its attention for awhile, looking for ideas for its name. The inner thoughts of all existence in each reality were thoroughly checked, even it didn’t own any of this information, nothing was spared. In an instant, countless authors, systems, rules, will, concepts which governed on each realities, are also included. Whatever it’s sense touches will be under its dominion. Nothing is inconceivable under its watch.
Rath’na… My name, shall be Rath’na, from now on…
Rath’na picked a name on its own to define its existence, to become one with even these insignificant existences inside this "eternal prison". An identity.
Upon searching for ѽ҄҄҄҄҆ѻ҃҄ again, Rath’na stumbled into a place that was governed by the concept of numbers.