The last 1,201 Impuritas appeared in a fragmented dreamscape. Floating islands populated by shattered ruins of various eras ranging from several thousand years before the Advent of Civilization to potential future worlds.
And number of biomes were isolated on various islands like miniature terrariums. The breeze of a winter wonderland blew across the precarious world the Librarians and the 200 Impuritas found themselves in. Symbols, voices, glyphs – a myriad of incomprehensible languages appeared and disappeared from the boundaries of the world, where the light above meshed with the abyss below.
Scheherazade, the Expositionist, comprehended these messages as she held out a hand to prevent her Librarians from taking a step further. They found themselves on a large island surrounded by thousands of tiny ones. Crystal thorns protruded from the ground, creating a wall that stood tens of meters high.
“It must look like a bird’s nest from afar.” Scheherazade muttered to herself as her eyes reflected the infinite number of glyphs and voices from beyond the void, reading them like they were muttering in the back of her mind. “… I’ve never heard of the voices so clearly. It’s like the Eternal Library. But the source of information is murkier. Less organized. What is this place supposed to be?”
Expositionists gained their understanding of the world around them through information stored within the Eternal Library. They could harness the Eternal Library’s knowledge from anywhere within the world for the one purpose of narrating the present. The future was not something they could interpret. Neither was the past easily accessible.
Consequently, Expositionists were not always correct as they were but mere narrators.
A sudden chill ran down the woman’s spine as the crystal thorns pried themselves apart like the ribs of a giant. A path leading to a blue, crystal throne was revealed to them. She threw her hand up, drawing an ink-drawn ‘F’ which then fired a grand flare into the sky.
“MOVE!” She howled. “We’re up against one of the Nexus’ monsters! Scrapers! Extract as much knowledge as you can! My tails – Don’t move recklessly! Blood doesn’t come in infinite quantities, so I will not be able to recreate more than a hundred more at most!”
Scheherazade’s knowledge was precise in the Nexus, to the point where she knew the name of this Floor and its owner. It was because of this she was able to foresee an attack that would have caused them to plummet into the abyss beneath.
The flare exploded like a firework seconds before a crack split the mainland in half. It originated from a dull, frozen blade that sat beneath the occupied throne.
“Secondary shockwaves from the outside! Resolve yourself mentally!” Scheherazade commanded, snapping her fingers to create a beautiful, azure magic circle consisting of the letter ‘R’ to increase the RESIST of her companions.
As she foresaw in her interpretations of the voices from this place; a shockwave ripped through the world. It was not physical per say, but an entirely psychological wave that caused the Virtuosos present to clasp at their heads.
“Forgive me! I… who am I speaking with? How many voices are there…?”
“Get out of my head! It’s crawling in my head!”
They were unable to resist a fraction of what the Expositionist dealt with at every living hour as an interpreter of the Eternal Library’s knowledge. Although, it was not like she could blame them. Anyone with a frail mind would succumb to the collective shriek from beyond the void.
Her Librarians moved to opposing islands, gathering into organized clumps as the remaining 200 Virtuosos stumbled and stammered in the wake of the changing world.
Expositonists possessed a power that allowed them to manifest copied Skills at will, so long as the letter they formed matched the first letter of the Skill’s name. It was a grossly simplified explanation, as the letter itself also served as their own magic circle to simulate the effects of the Skills.
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Of course, this came at the cost of ‘material’. This material could be anything so long as it had a story behind it. The longer the tale, the more letters could be harnessed for a Skill. Or better yet, a tale that only few Librarians could ever dream of creating.
It was the Scrapers job to retrieve the material from the living using their Quills and Ink, which could only be done through physical contact and when the target was significantly weakened.
Suffice to say, Scheherazade had doubts they’d be able to retrieve anything from the owner of this Floor.
“Call upon the Justica Arms and fight it from a distance for now.” She said, throwing a talisman with the letter ‘J’ in the air to create a functioning replica of a standard Justica Arm.
The thorns eventually recessed into the rock enough where the throned figure could be seen from every direction. More than a thousand Justica Arms were pointed in their direction, and yet, the figure remained uninterested.
“A Librarian sets foot into the domain of my fractured throne. Tell me, Librarian. Are your weapons for show or are you not here as a guest of mine?”
A shriveled, haggard figure in a coat of black, ruffled feathers rested her head on a curled fist, unamused by their appearance.
Her eyes glowed with a golden valor. But they were not filled with contempt. Rather, they carried the nihilism of a bored king who had nothing to their name.
“Does it matter when you’ll kill us regardless of what we say? The Archetype of Ego. We weren’t aware another had awakened. Were you the one who brought us here?”
Scheherazade chose her words carefully. The unfiltered knowledge she gained could not gauge just how powerful this being was. Rather, all she gained were screams and foreboding warnings.
“A fair assumption.” And yet, the calm, indifferent attitude of the Archetype of Ego made her believe otherwise. “Librarians would only come to our untarnished heights with one goal in mind. But the Nexus is a living system. Would it allow an invader to so easily roam its veins without consequences?”
“Then we already failed.” Scheherazade grit her teeth.
No. She knew precisely why they were like this. The things reflected in those golden eyes were so much lower than her that there was no reason to panic. It was a mental attack that admittedly worked on Scheherazade. It didn’t take a genius to realize just how outmatched they were.
“Failure? You have not tried, and you’ve decided you’ve failed?” The Archetype didn’t belittle them despite the contents of her words. “It is one thing to be an uninvited guest of mine. But it is another to be an invader of the Nexus. Have you made your choice?”
“Coming here was a choice in of itself!” Scheherazade snapped her fingers, and at once, a thousand bullet came crashing down onto the Archetype of Ego.
A translucent, blue barrier shielded them from the ranged attacks. The barrier would only appear where the bullets hit. Scheherazade was given the name of this attack as well as its effects.
“[Protobiotic Guard]? A shield given to the first-born of the Light?”
The Light was not a concept unfamiliar to Scheherazade. The fact that she could create beings revealed that she was closer to an Author than a Librarian, but one could not become an Author of Existentia without the consensus of the established Authors.
Furthermore, it was punishable for a Librarian to dabble in the creation of a tale without their input – a sin that Scheherazade was guilty of.
“Oh. You’re not an ordinary Expositionist, are you?” Finally, a glimpse of entertainment appeared in the eyes of the Archetype of Ego. “So it was written down in the books after all. How could it not be… I see. You were part of the Library to begin with, after all. It’s in your namesakes.”
Like Scheherazade, the Archetype was able to see parts of her psyche as though she was reading from a tale.
“We were always there!” Scheherazade erupted, summoning various bows and arrows, hoping to puncture the Archetype’s defenses. “We tended to the Library before your Archetype of Civilization took over and went into hiding for 300 years!”
But it was futile. The Archetype rose to her feet sluggishly like an annoyed king. Then, she descended from crystal throne with heavy, steep steps. Beneath the sky-blue hair was an expression befitting one who truly saw them as nothing more than insects.
“So it would seem that way to you. I’m more understanding than you may think.” She began, snapping her fingers in a similar manner as the Expositionist.
Only this time, the Archetype of Ego was able to summon far more embellished versions of the Justica Arms to assist her.
“H-How –!”
“These are not Justica Arms.”
“[Antiquated Rifles]. Weapons of a forlorn past or future. The choice of interpretation is yours…? Just what are you –!?”
The silent limitations of the Justica Arms could compare to the raw howls of a smoldering firearm. The Archetype of Ego possessed multiple weapons in what the Expositionst assumed was a [Dimensional Storage]. But these weapons, which took various forms and shot out identical bullets, were something she had ever seen before.
Not only that, but these weapons fired on their own with the precision of a marksman.
“Like you, I was once a guardian of my own sacred place, only to be usurped ad infinitum. Gradually, I grew to learn how to use other weapons aside from my blade.”