The Cusp

The cusp of godhood.

‎ Akamori drifted through the ship till he stopped at the quarters he’d been assigned. The wall phased incorporeal at the press of a button and allowed him to pass through as though the metal turned into cloud. Once inside the room, it then hardened back into the same wall it had been with only the outline of the door frame to indicate it was a point of ingress. He shuffled to his bed, dropping down heavily and kicked his boots off with several jerks of his feet. A long weary sigh eased past his lips as he studied his sketchbook.

Tucking his knees up, he rested the book against his thighs and began to work the pencil again. Time melted away to the scratching sounds of the lead against paper. He lost himself to the work. Eventually an image took shape of a tall and powerful looking woman standing amidst a crystalline structure. She had unusual eyes that looked almost like cross hairs meeting at her pupils. He studied the half finished sketch for a long moment wondering who she might be. There was a distant familiarity to it, like a relative whose name he’d forgotten.

His door chime pinged just as he was close to recalling the name. With a weary sigh he rose and pressed the button next to the door, it faded into a whispy pink illusion as everyone piled in with a can of beer. They swept in and took seats where they could leaving him standing by the doorway confused.

“What’s all this about?”

“We all got to talking and thought the squad was due to relax.”

Akamori noticed there wasn’t any beer for him. “You guys didn’t bring any for me?”

Sirsir chuckled, “No sir. Not after that fiasco on Eryn. We gotta keep you fresh for the cage fights.”

“The what?”

Everyone exchanged looks before glancing back at him. “Nothing!” They all sang.

Sala and Yasiin exchanged grins with Amara and Sirsir just leaned against the wall sat on Akamori’s bunk. “So you all brought down beer just to drink it in front of me? What for?”

“We thought we lost you in that death march nonsense those dragons sent you on.” Sirsir said. “And we didn’t think it was right that you came out of it ok without congratulating you.” When the dark skinned nco finished he looked to the empty space in the middle of his room.

Astri shimmered into view standing in the previously empty gap of the group. She’d been there along, cloaked again. Her face was covered, giving her a mysterious vibe, but it fit with what little of her he’d known.

“You acquitted yourself well before the wyrm mother if you yet stand amongst the living. Though, I’ll be honest when I saw your body disintegrate to ash in the lightning storm? I thought you were gone.”

Akamori nodded, sweeping his cousin up in a fierce hug. “Thanks. I couldn’t have made it that far without your help.”

Astri hesitantly patted his back before he disengaged from her. “There are whispers already moving like a gentle breeze through the rider camps of the mysterious outrider who stood defiant before the dragons and faced the wyrm mother.”

Akamori held his hands up. “Not interested. I came here to clear my name. Not inherit some kind of savior problem.”

Amara chuckled softly under her breath, catching a stern glare from him.

“Cousin, please. Just keep an open mind. You’ve seen how poorly they treat us riders. I’m asking nothing of you beyond that.”

He folded his arms and nodded after a few pensive moments. “Alright. But that’s all I can promise. There’s a war going on and that’s my first concern.”

“Of course. The state of our local affairs will matter little if your enemies move unchecked.”

One of the wall panels bled some of the black blood. A small finger tip length droplet that ooze free of its confine. Astri stopped talking to look at the drop. Slowly she raised a finger to point at it. “Your ship is bleeding.” She said flatly.

“It’s a condition.” Akamori said flippantly. “Got any field dressings?”

“No, I left my ship sized roll of gauze at home.”

Akamori wanted to laugh, but a long drawn out yawn broke loose instead. His entire body grew heavier with each passing moment. Exhaustion was banging at his minds door. Any moment he was going to collapse, he was certain of it. The lack of battles and need to press had finally allow the past day or so to press in on.

“Right. I’m beat. Everyone out. Go on. Give a poor man a break.”

A chorus of “awe” rang out before the squad finally got up and moved for the portal into his quarters. As they filed out they each gave him a pat on the shoulder and a happy grin. It was a near thing, almost losing him. None of them liked that it was down to the whims of a god. He watched as they left and then waved his arms around checking for Astri. Just in case.

Satisfied he had his room all to himself he unbuckled Thanaton, resting the blade against his bed and fell down onto it hard. He was so tired he didn’t even remember at what point his eyes closed. Sleep however brought him no respite.

Akamori spun in a slow circle seeing death in every direction. He was surrounded by the a host of spirits he’d collected in battle. Spectral pallid green after images of a variety of dragons of various ages gathered around him like moths to a flame. They said nor did nothing beyond stare at him. He felt uncomfortable for a moment.

Be at ease. They are simply the souls of those you’ve bested in combat. In epics past, our soul used to ferry the recently departed into the afterlife. They recognize the mark of soul envoy, even if you yourself do not understand yet. Bahumet’s voice rumbled in his mind like a voice dragged over a gravel walkway.

“So what do I do?”

Lead them on a walk. Eventually they will find their own way. They simply need you as a guide.

Shrugging, he strode, a spectral void dragon shimmering just out of sight at his side followed pace silently. Walking a long stone paved path, the details off the walkway got fuzzy, like they’d been forgotten by creation. As his mind dwelled on that, a deep purring chuckle resonated.

The author's narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

Your mind only manifests that minimum necessary detail. But it can be deceptive and untrustworthy narrator.

“You’re saying not to trust my own mind?”

Always question. Like these spirits. Why do you think they’ve gathered around you in death?

“I have no idea?”

Nor would you. You are on the cusp of godhood. Spirits naturally gravitate around the divine.

“Even if they don’t believe in you?”

Correct. The divine pull of a god is strong enough to prevent a soul from traversing the maw and returning to the cycle.

That gave Akamori something to consider. Were gods helpful to the cycle? What if they prevent the cycle from moving in a natural fashion? Another chuckling rumble purred from Bahumet. He glanced over at the shimmering mirage of the great void dragon. Then back to the souls who followed along behind him like a spectral entourage.

You begin to scratch at some of the greater issues within the System. Gods and Titans did not always exist. Nor did their false counter parts the Icons. But the system needed a way to structure beings with that much power. Those who mirrored the faintest shadow of glory of Those who came before.

“Those who came before? Before what?”

Before the system. Before the Severance.

Akamori folded his hands behind his head as he strode along. Giving himself to the conversation completely. How often did one get to talk to his own soul like this? “Ok. I’ll bite. What are those and what should they mean to me?”

To you? Nothing more than mere words. To our soul? Everything.

“You keep talking at me like me and my soul aren’t the same thing.”

Because you are not. All life comprises aether, flesh, and soul. All three things are required for it to be truly considered alive. If one possesses aether and flesh, it is merely a monster. A manifestation of ambient energy and need. But they lack souls. If they possess aether and a soul, they are a ghoul or a phantom. You may have seen some employed in the stead of necromancers of Sauridius.

Akamori shivered. “Ugh. Yeah.”

A pity, that. They are pale shadows of what they once used to be. Necromancers used to revere the balance of the cycle and fought long and hard to maintain its balance. But they were overtaken by Sauridius when he recognized the potential to put them to work for his own ends.

“Wait. You mean he didn’t make them himself?”

No. Sauridius is many things, but a creator he is not. It is far easier for him to repurpose another’s effort as his own.

“Do we have a shot at ending this war?”

Bahumet’s massive head dipped thoughtfully. A deep throaty bellow rumbled as he thought over the issue.

There is a chance of success. Yes. But it will carry a price. One that may prove worse than letting Sauridius win.

Akamori snapped his attention to Bahumet’s hazy figure. “Can we try going for something less ominous and foreboding?”

The future is always in motion. Events pushing yet more events towards what may seem like destiny. Sometimes a strong enough being may be able to divine where those streams converge. But sometimes an even more powerful being can conceal certain key streams, robbing their enemies of the opportunity to counter act. Such is the ever evolving tapestry of creation.

“So everything I’ve done could have been just me marching to someone elses drum beat?”

Yes. Or your reactions are marching against someone elses drum beat to borrow your own wording.

“So how do I know if I’m acting on my own, or just someone’s puppet?”

Is there truly a distinction? And would it even matter?

Akamori opened his mouth to respond and paused mid thought. “Hmm. Good point. So how do I break free of that and become self deterministic?”

Amass enough power that none can decide your actions for you. Which you are well on the road to doing. Already you are on the cusp of godhood. Can you not hear the whispers of prayer? Those who cry out for change? Their words will always be ferried to you. The agent of change and chaos within the System.

“Certainly wasn’t the first thing that popped into my head when my father asked what I wanted to do with my life. Oh wait! He didn’t! He was trying to tell me what I’d be too.” Akamori huffed.

Bahumet chuckled in a gravely bellow. Fate is often cruel and has a warped sense of humor. Often what we want and what we need are seldom the same things.

“And what is it exactly I need?”

A final push into divinity. But that will come in time. Close your eyes and listen. Can you not hear them? The prayers of those who worship you? Worship imparts strength. But that connection can work both ways. By taking a covenant, a follower may pledge their worship to you entirely. In exchange, you may gift them a small measure of power. As you increase in power, the amount of covenants you may give and the type of covenants will grow as well.

Akamori stopped walking and closed his eyes. The whispers were there at the edge of his consciousness. Now that he was focusing on them, they grew louder, as though spoken softly by someone right next to him. A plea for help. A hope for change. Cries for justice, and wishes for aid. He wondered why him? Why was this coming to him?

It’s colored into your soul. Bahument responded.

Akamori sighed in frustration. This was really starting to get old. He was about to force himself awake when the sky rippled a distorted lavender that settled out across his dreamscape.

“What…was that?”

We’ve been attacked with a divine sleep spell.

“That sounds bad.”

Very much so as it leaves you physcially vulnerable.

A massive draconic foot crashed down next to Akamori, very much a part of the reality of his dream. A black and purple head lowered next to him, facing off into the distance with a hyper alert glare. Bahumet bellowed, teeth bared as void magic rippled from his eyes. In the shimering haze of the sunny Honshu afternoon, a figure approached.

‎