Chapter 169 - Cognition's Terror

"The door's open. Please come in," Vern shouted, trying his best to take the edge off his voice and make his posture more inviting.

Kacha, it clicked, and a figure waltzed in. However, the moment it entered, the person behind the mask seemed to be taken aback.

Vern kept a close watch on his own thoughts and spoke with apparent confusion, "Sorry? Can I help you? I thought it was the hotel staff ringing in the dinner."

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"Hehaha Hahaha. Today's my lucky day, it seems," said the intruder, barging into the room proper.

Vern visibly frowned, "I don't understand. What does that have to do with anything?"

"Oh, you can help me alright, you sinner."

Do we have some kind of past misunderstandings or something? Vern wondered, unsure what the hell this guy was on about. Regardless, he maintained his innocuous responses and replied with annoyance, "Alright, that's enough. Either explain yourself, or I'll call the staff to throw you out."

"Hah, you really think you're so high and mighty? Even after all that's happened to you heretics? Luckily, the absolute angel decided to set things right and wipe your kind off the face of this holy world."

"You heretic sinners are better off dead anyway. "

Ahh, it dawned on him. He's one of those, eh? The type who believed fundamentalism to be heresy and blasphemy against the natural order. That, by creating all these contraptions, the fundamentalists had led the world astray from the path of gods.

"Lady–above, I don't have time for this. Please leave," Vern sighed, waving his hand away. That was his true feelings, too. He wanted this man to use his observational visions on him and be done with it. He didn't have the time for philosophical debates. Every minute was precious.

"OHH, the one absolute ANGEL," he screeched at the top of his lungs and pointed at Vern, shaking vehemently, "Doth thee watch this blasphemy!?" Disgust was clear in the tilt of those eyes peeking through his bony mask as he shook his head, "Nary a remorse. Nor any regrets. Instead of repenting, this heretic has the gall to justify himself."

Thump! the man slammed the door behind him and rushed towards Vern, who tightened his grip around his cane. If the man tried something physically, all bets would be off, and Vern would have to end this as quickly as possible. He didn't mind the moron badmouthing him, but physical abuse wasn't on the list of things he was willing to accept in this situation.

Vern sneakily assumed a better stance as the average-built raider suddenly swerved and instead stormed towards the shelf. What's he doing now?

"This…" he picked up the whirling umbrella Vern had plundered from the ruffians in Starfall Heights when he was with Cera and shouted, "Garbage like this is what led to the Duskfall." Then, without any hesitation, he slammed it into the ground.

Bamm!

Vern took a deep breath, barely managing to keep himself from switching the face of his cane to Duality and thrusting the damned thing into the man's chest.

No…it's fine, he tried to reason. I can't just kill him right now, but I can fix the umbrella. I need more intel.

Fortunately, the umbrella had no bullets, so it couldn't malfunction, and it was very sturdy. Even after this abuse, barely a few of its spokes were dislodged.

"Only if you blasphemers hadn't gone and angered the gods," the man shrieked, his annoying tone only turning louder.

Vern stood up and let his rage show, demanding, "Get the fuck out of my room before I resort to something serious." He had to push the man harder and make him use his eyes rather than this barbaric bullshit.

So, when the man decided to reach for his mechanical alarm clock to vandalize it, Vern shoved the cane right in front of his face. Towering over the man, he looked down with sharp eyes, daring him to touch his belongings one more time.

"You dastardly blasphemer! Get out of my face," he blared, backing away haphazardly. "You think you can save yourself? The angel decided to show mercy on you, but you dare to continue dabbling in this blasphemy instead of righting your ways? What a fool! You learned nothing from the massacre of your fellows, huh?"

Why does he know about the disproportionate amount of fundamentalists who died during the Duskfall? And this fucker has the gall to blame the tragedy on the dead? Vern fumed internally.

"Now that we have a new world, we can finally erase and revert all the damage your kind did. Revert everything the way it was," he continued to shout in that grating tone as he flopped around his hand carelessly, causing the items all over the room to scatter and crash against the walls.

And in that moment, Vern suddenly stopped in his tracks. A weird mix of irritation and annoyance washed over him. "Can you fucking stop? This is not funny."

Vern rushed at the man and grabbed him by the collar. Yet, somehow, he managed to slip away at the last moment and instead charged into his desk, toppling it over. Toppling over the insight sphere and all his precious trinkets inside it.

"YOU MOTHERFUCKER!" Vern screamed.

He dropped his cane and tackled the man. This time, the bastard couldn't escape, and Vern began to punch him ruthlessly.

With a crack, the bony mask splintered, and the man's nose caved in.

Crack!

Krrr!

"Ahahahaha, you sinners are the same, one and all."

Seconds turned into minutes, and Vern pummeled him non-stop. Surprisingly, even after bleeding so much, the man was laughing without a pause.

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What am I doing? he wondered after a while as his fists continued to ram into the man's face.

Even if I want him to use his Visions, why am I reacting like this?

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But…no? It's only rational that I am annoyed, right?

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Unable to find an issue with the logic, he continued to thrash the man's face, blood pooling underneath them.

This hateful bastard had destroyed his room. "How dare you break my…my…scope?…fair?"

What am I even trying to say? What in the nine hells was going on? Why was this guy not dead yet?

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

A sense of uneasiness took root in his mind, and he couldn't help but feel that he was forgetting something.

But what?

Unsure what the heck was going on, he tried to unleash his perception as he continued to maul the bastard.

However, he didn't feel it. It wasn't there.

"…???" he suddenly slowed down, confused. That was right. Why would it be there? What even was perception?

He didn't recall any lectures or journal articles that explained the perception as something tangible. How would one unleash something one couldn't even mentally acknowledge?

Had he gone wrong in the head? Maybe it was the lack of sleep. After all, tomorrow was a big day at the symposium, and he had to prepare well for it.

However, annoyingly, one voice echoed in his mind without a pause, 'Grant me insight,' it said. He tried to ignore it as his punches grew faster once again.

"Hahaha, not just a blasphemer, but a brute, too? Unfortunately, that won't wipe your sins."

He didn't know why, but this bastard was hateful and needed to be put down. So he punched and punched. Blood flowed out of the man's face as the bones of his mask impaled his skin.

And even at this moment, an annoying plea reverberated in Vern's head, 'Axiom…grant me insight' something something. No matter what he did, it wouldn't go away.

So, even knowing it would most probably be a waste of time, he acquiesced to this plea in hopes that it would stop the loud siren and let him end this hateful bastard for good.

Snap!

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Suddenly, an umbral darkness shrouded everything, and he lost any sense of physicality before his vision cleared up. He was still sitting on the chair, the cane resting lightly in his hands.

All the bruises on his hands were gone, and so was his annoyance. The room was in a perfectly ordered state, and the umbrella hung on the shelf—unharmed, while the table was right there—as normal as it could be.

What…

A shiver raced down his spine as icy fingers trailed along his head, and the foreign smell of a heavy perfume assailed his nostrils.

"Angels-above, what in the devilish trickery is this guy? Why do I have such bad luck to run into an astute observer…" came a voice as the fingers tightened around his cranium.

Fuck! Vern screamed internally, his heart pounding like a drum in his chest, loud and frantic as he clenched his fists. When did this happen?

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I was pulled in the illusion the moment the door opened! he realized as a deep, unsettling chill coursed through him. With a shudder, he recalled that feeling of not having memories of his perception and the regression in general.

Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! he repeated, hoping that would release some of the terror that was trying to take over his mind.

Every cell in his body screamed at him to shove this man away and get the hell out of here, but he somehow managed to resist acting rashly and tried to assess the situation without letting his impulses take him away.

Maybe it was the enormous sense of gravitas that came with Axiom's singularity merging with his own, but it allowed him to stay calm in this absurd situation.

Luckily, I had enough sense to engage with my own prayer even when I didn't have the context around it. The thought of what would have happened if he was stuck in that illusion for even a little bit longer only filled him with dread.

I was just…lucky. If things had gone even a little differently. It would have been over already.

No. Not right now. He shook himself out of it and assessed the situation as those disgusting fingers crept around his head, almost as if trying to poke a hole and burrow into it.

Suddenly, the man standing to his side with a hand on his head chuckled, "Hahh, here I thought you could resist for a little longer. Pity…I was almost having fun."

Did he realize I've broken out of it…?

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Fortunately, his fears were unfounded. It was possible that inside the illusion, Vern had gone unresponsive, and the man assumed it to be a sign of submission.

That's good.

In a second, the man suddenly stopped probing his head and looked at Vern with his eyes glowing behind that mask, its bony, jagged angles more grotesque up close than they had any right to be.

Vern didn't miss the beat and let his eyes droop, copying the woman he'd seen earlier being affected by these people.

The black-purple-robed man nodded, satisfied, before asking, "Do you know Walter?"

He responded in the same manner as the girl, "I…I don't."

"Hmph. Well, you surely did a couple of minutes ago. Anyways, who are you?"

"I…I am Vern. A fundamentalist and an observer."

"Hahh, I've always envied you bastards. Blasphemers you might be, but you still had the secrets of the world at your fingertips." He then lifted his other hand and stared at it, "But your kind isn't the only one now, is it? I don't just know the world's secrets. I twist and turn them to my will, hehe."

Vern didn't miss the change of attitude between this guy and the one from inside the illusion. There, he was very much playing like a crazed, irrational hater of fundamentalists. However, it was different here.

Why? he wondered and arrived at a simple answer soon enough.

It was intentional, he conjectured. Maybe even a part of how he enacted his vision of memory erasure.

Vern was running out of time; he couldn't stay linked to Axiom's singularity indefinitely—it was a precious and limited resource. And while the man's incessant chatter made Vern antsy, it seemed like it wasn't entirely a waste.

He further analyzed the prior scenario and realized that the man was indeed putting on a specific act inside the illusion. Everything he did was to incite Vern. So…did he need me to be angry to get into my head?

The more he thought about it, the more it made sense. He wasn't losing his memories and control at the start of the illusion, but the longer it went on, the more he felt that his mind was fragmenting.

That's to say, he pushed one of my emotions to the extreme and somehow used it to jack into my memories?

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What the fuck…?

He couldn't help but feel a little cold as his hands trembled.

This is…terrifying. One wrong move and I was gone. He was forced into a game on the losing side without even knowing its rules.

Observers really weren't to be taken lightly. It was his fault for underestimating them and not pre-emptively linking himself to Axiom. He'd just kept it ready, but it clearly wasn't enough.

A part of him wondered why the first axiom of observation didn't kick in and save him from being observed under this person's visions, only to realize the issue the very next moment.

Damn. It's because emotions are…universal. Everyone experienced anger, joy, sorrow, and the like in a more or less standard manner.

There were personal nuances to it, but anyone who had insights into a particular emotion could probably perceive it without it being interfered by their target's viewpoint. And then they can manipulate it to any effect.

Lady-above. So, cognition fundamental isn't as simple as I'd thought.

There was no doubt that anything illusion-related had to do with cognition fundamental. That was how all the greatest 'miracles,' otherwise known as scam inventions, happened in the fundamentalist conventions of recent times.

Obviously, the other reason is that this guy is probably at a higher shade than me.

Vern might've managed to resist it by himself if he had insights in the cognition domain, but he didn't. Heck, he could even be called a pauper in that department. His understanding of structure was as far away from emotions as possible.

I really need to think hard about how each fundamental can be used against me and prepare counters based on that. I can't rely solely on First Axiom to save me.

"Tell me…" the man started once again, "You were a smart one, weren't you? And I don't mean your scholarly aptitude. I mean your viewpoint."

Vern snapped out of his thoughts and didn't know what to say for a second. Soon, he went along with the man and decided to give him the answer he wanted in a languid voice, "Yes…"

He nodded, the fingers crushing Vern's head growing gentle, "Good, good. I am sure mistress won't mind one or two deaths."

Vern didn't react, but he had an uneasy feeling about this.

The man suddenly dropped his hand in his robe and pulled out a gleaming…surgical knife?

What the…?

At that moment, the man dropped his torso to Vern's eye level and stared him dead in the eye, "I think I'll help myself. Your brain's too good to be wiped just like that. It's bound to give me some insights." The hideous smile behind that mask turned even crazed as he shouted, "Maybe. Maybe I can finally see the angel's light!"

Brandishing the knife, he licked his lips and readied himself.

A shudder went down Vern's spine as the implications settled on him. This fucker wants to…eat my brain?

The man raised the knife higher, priming to plunge it right into Vern's head.

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Vern almost couldn't believe the gall of this fucker. Did this bastard think he would just sit here as he gouged out the brain from his head?

Enough intelligence gathered, I guess. Time to get this show up and running.