In a place beyond comprehension, where neither space nor time had ever existed, matter began to coalesce from nothingness. Space took form where there had been only void, and time began to tick where there had been only stillness.
"I absolutely abhor using these conceptual bodies. It’s so... restricting," a voice, rich with disdain, reverberated through the new reality. The voice belonged to a woman of unparalleled beauty, her crimson hair cascading down to her hips like a river of blood. She was draped in a robe woven from white bone and deep crimson, her arms marked by gruesome lacerations that leaked an otherworldly blood, staining the void-like floor beneath her as it met the ground.
In response, another being materialized before her, an old man bent under the weight of countless ages. His thick gray eyebrows and unruly hair seemed untouched by the passage of time, and his robes were a chaotic tapestry of letters, symbols, and formulas from forgotten languages, weaving together a story of ancient wisdom.
His voice, when he spoke, was like the murmur of ancient winds, carrying the weight of eons. "A necessary restraint," he intoned, his closed eyes emanating a solemn, almost oppressive, wisdom. "Running interference from the chaotic abyss is inconvenient," he added, his tone laced with cold pragmatism.
Cordevaras rolled her eyes, though she knew well enough that the Qi domain clashed with their very essence. Her complaint was more of a habit than a genuine grievance. "Boring as usual," she quipped, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "You could choose to look like anything, and yet you choose the form of a dying old man."
The old man remained unperturbed by her taunt. "This form mirrors one of the wisest beings of all time, one who witnessed the era of the primordial ones," he replied, a faint trace of reverence in his voice. As he spoke, an old, feeble chair materialized beneath him, and he sat down with a deliberate slowness. "He was a man of great knowledge, unwavering in his pursuit of truth. More importantly," his expression darkened with a hint of contempt, "you wrested away the body of a true immortal? Despite my warning to avoid drawing attention in this cycle."
Cordevaras, unimpressed, looked down at him, her gaze filled with derision. "You really enjoy playing human," she remarked, dismissing his lecture with a wave of her hand.
Veridatas remained silent, knowing that to truly understand a being, one must live as that being. His commitment to this principle was unwavering.
"Enough small talk," he said, his tone sharp. "Why have you called me here? And don’t waste my time asking about my plans as if I would reveal them to you."
Cordevaras smirked, crossing her arms. "You lashed out at him despite knowing what would happen. That’s not like you, to put on such an act."
Veridatas sighed, a heavy sound that seemed to carry the weight of ages. "How I deal with my followers is none of your concern," he replied curtly.
Cordevaras's expression twitched, and the delicate balance of space, time, and matter began to unravel around them. The very constructs that held their conceptual bodies together clashed violently with her presence, extinguishing the fragile reality they had momentarily inhabited.
The very foundations of existence trembled as they struggled to reconcile the impossible contradictions of their nature. The Acaritas were beings born of an inverted reality, an existence fundamentally at odds with the conceptual bodies they had assumed.
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"Damn these conceptual bodies," Cordevaras muttered, cursing under her breath as her presence flared. For an infinitely small moment, a projection flickered behind her, a presence so vast it cast shadows that devoured entire realms. An ocean of colorless blood spilled from its pores, flooding the ground in an endless torrent. Countless hearts pulsed within its ever-changing form, beating in a cyclical dance of life and death. Its limbs were a writhing mass of flesh and bone, a chaotic conglomeration of limbs beyond count or reason. And at its forefront, a single, haunting eye stared out, a square pupil, overflowing with the same blood that coursed through its veins.
The image was enough to shatter the minds of even the most resilient immortals, dispersing their very wills.
"Control thyself, lest thou shatter the veil we have woven. Dost thou wish to announce thyself to the Sovereigns and the objects of their worship?" Veridatas's voice, laced with an ancient dialect, cut through the tension, bringing Cordevaras back to the present.
She took a deep breath, reigning in her overwhelming will. "This body is too fragile," she muttered, frustrated. Then, shifting her focus, she continued, "That aside, you promised me. You said that if I let you have the Caelum Juravi, you would give me a born and fully realized piece of him."
Veridatas extended his hand, and an eye materialized in his palm. "I am one of Truth and Veracity; there can be no doubt. You agreed to let me have him in exchange for this—a part of his body, personally verified by me. Take it as agreed."
When Feng Zhiming was captured by the followers of Cordevaras, he was still unborn, and Cordevaras lacked the knowledge to extract his true flesh. What she had taken—a mere husk—was as useless to her as a fleeting thought. She needed something of true substance, and so she struck a deal with her kin, Veridatas.
Veridatas possessed a method to wrest away parts of an unborn entity and forcibly bestow birth upon them. In essence, he could imbue truth into things that would otherwise be false. In this case, he had made it so that the eye taken from Feng Zhiming was recognized as truly born under the purview of the Dao. The eye now thrummed with life, a true conceptual entity.
Cordevaras's eyes lit up with satisfaction as she studied the eye closely. Veridatas, however, felt a pang of regret. He had sensed a deep influence within the flesh, something beyond his understanding. But flesh was not his domain; that belonged to Cordevaras.
As she held the eye, it began to beat like a heart, encased in blood that darkened to a deep blue hue. "I can feel it," she whispered, her voice filled with a mix of wonder and greed.
Veridatas was taken aback. Could there truly be the breath of the abyss sealed within the flesh, hidden so well that even he had not detected it?
Before he could act, Cordevaras swallowed the eye whole, a triumphant grin spreading across her face. "Ah, ah, ah, you agreed, brother. If you want to blame someone, blame your inability to see the secrets of viscera."
Veridatas's expression darkened, but she was right. His lack of knowledge had cost him dearly.
"It seems I should study your understanding of the flesh next," he mused, his voice tinged with frustration. "I am still unversed in this world."
Cordevaras began to circle him, laughing softly at his admission. "Are you going to tell me why that child is so important? It can’t just be the breath of the abyss. While rare in a mortal, it’s not unheard of. What is it that makes you tolerate such disrespect? Every interaction with him is fraught with danger."
"What danger?" Veridatas retorted, his tone dismissive. "The rule is not to interfere directly with them. There’s no rule against making deals, provided they initiate the transaction."
"The Dao is such a curious, confusing thing. It interferes in ways it cannot even comprehend," Cordevaras replied, her voice lilting as she continued to circle him.
Veridatas remained silent.
She placed a hand on his shoulder, her tone growing more serious. "You still haven’t told me. What is so special about him?"
Veridatas stood up, brushing her hand off as he began to walk away, a cane appearing in his hand. "You will see," he said cryptically.
As he spoke, he opened his left eye, revealing a pitch-black, spiraling abyss.
"And when that boy asks you about God?" Cordevaras asked, a smirk playing on her lips. She already knew the answer he would give.
Veridatas paused, just for a moment. "I will tell him the only thing I can," he replied, his voice firm. "Upon my title, I will only speak the truth."