Chapter Two Hundred Four: 'When an archdemon stirs...'

It had been a long and frustrating day, to say the least. He sighed wearily as he flopped down onto his favorite bean bag, enjoying its soft and fuzzy coating in tandem with its familiar squishiness. Sour-faced and upset with himself, he allowed his eyes to drift slowly around the room.

As far as workshops went, his wasn't exactly what one might call "conventional." Old televisions lined one of the walls entirely, but most of them hadn't seen any use in twenty years or more. At one time, he'd been enamored with so many different daytime soap operas that he'd gotten into the habit of watching many of them simultaneously, but these days, he didn't have much love for the genre anymore. Looking back, it may've perhaps been a bad idea to mail in that threatening letter to the producers of Daily Love. Sure, the show had gone to hell, and everything he'd written in that letter had been one hundred percent accurate, but he hadn't wanted them and virtually every other producer in all of Bellvine to quit making daytime soaps altogether.

It had taken a few years before any new soaps had dared to start airing, but the industry had never quite recovered, he felt. The stories just didn't have the same kind of punch that they used to. True, they didn't infuriate him like before, perhaps because they no longer killed off his favorite characters--or any characters, for that matter--but they also felt, on the whole, much safer now. The writers were too afraid to take risks, he supposed. Which was a shame.

Then again, maybe it was for the best. Without so many soaps distracting him all the time, he'd been able to focus more on his creative work again.

Which was the source of his current frustration.

Feldeaths were so obnoxious. It was unbelievable how stubborn they were. It was like they were somehow made of stubbornness. At first, he'd merely been curious as to whether or not it would be possible to supercharge an aberration by feeding a feldeath to one of them, but after a string of continuous and sometimes explosive failures, he'd resorted to merely trying to observe feldeaths more closely and hopefully learn something about the composition of their mysterious bodies.

They were the only beings on the planet that could manipulate physical reality directly while having entirely incorporeal bodies--or at least, that was the commonly held belief. He'd begun wondering if perhaps they did have some physical component to them--a component which had simply yet to be discovered by any scholar in history. It shouldn't be possible, given everything that was known about how feldeaths were born, but Nibas Dimitri Aurelion Lotorevo Morgunov wasn't one for allowing his curiosity to be sated by the theories of other supposed scientists.

He'd learned long ago not to trust information he couldn't verify for himself. And boy, did feldeaths make that widely held theory difficult to verify.

They absolutely hated being observed. And the way they could change the composition of their bodies at the drop of a hat certainly didn't help, either. If they did have some hidden physical component to their bodies, he wondered if they might be able to phase said component in and out of reality at will. And in such a case, confirming the component's existence would require around-the-clock study using every observational instrument known to man--and perhaps some which were still unknown to it.

But accomplishing all of that meant capturing one of the bloody things, and there existed no material on this planet which could keep a feldeath caged for very long. Maybe if he took a break and studied up on quantum fluctuations, he would be able to figure out some new method of approach for these problems.

But.

Meh...

His fervor for the feldeath problem had diminished rather substantially, of late. He had always despised the idea of "giving up," no matter what the experiment entailed, but living as long as he had, he'd slowly grown to have a different understanding of what that meant. To him, he wasn't so much giving up as he was just shelving the project for a while. He'd return to it whenever his interest in it was rekindled. True, that could be a hundred years from now or more, but such was the nature of immortality.

On the other hand, though, a part of him didn't think he would actually last another hundred years. In truth, a part of him didn't want to--but not because he was so miserable or otherwise tired of living, as several of his contemporaries seemed to be.

Rather, it was just the opposite.

The idea that someone out there might finally punch his ticket for him?

That would be so exciting. Who could pull off such a feat? And how?

There was a time when he genuinely thought that Jercash might be the one to do it, but that sourpuss didn't seem interested in the idea, anymore. What a disappointing realization that had been. Jercash obviously wanted to lead Abolish, but apparently, he didn't much care about getting the credit for doing so. These days, the sly boy seemed only too happy to use his "crazy" boss as an excuse for all manner of things, whether it be scapegoating him or feigning an inferiority complex or some other underhanded thing.

There was no doubt in Morgunov's mind that Jercash had a hand in the untimely deaths of Gunther and Dunhouser. Sure, Jackson may have been the one that actually killed them, but Jercash probably manufactured the circumstances that had allowed that to happen.

In a way, Morgunov was proud of him. The world hadn't started calling his sly boy the Devil's Knife for nothing.

Of course, Jercash probably didn't think that he could see any of that.

But he could.

Morgunov could always see.

If anything, his problem was that he could see too much.

It had always been that way.

There was a time, long in the past now, when he had hated that part of himself. When he had wanted to be normal. To have a regular brain like everyone else. The world had certainly tried its damnedest to make him feel that way in his youth. Adults didn’t like being seen through by a child, nor told what to do, even for their own betterment--even if they could tell that it was for their own betterment.

But perhaps that was merely human nature. Compulsive independence, even against demonstrable truth. ‘Twas a matter of pride, he supposed.

It too often was.

Those times were so distant to his mind now that they felt almost as if they had happened to someone else--and indeed, he sometimes questioned if they did.

The mind was a funny thing, wasn’t it? There was no more powerful object in the known universe than the human brain, and yet it was still so prone to errors. The philosophical problem of the unreliable narrator: summarized. How can a man trust his own thoughts when he knows his mind to be so deeply flawed? How can one think correctly when the act of thinking itself might be incorrect?

It was a dilemma that had always fascinated him--even to the point of dabbling in the treacherous technology of cerebral enhancement for a while--but he had yet to find a satisfactory resolution to it.

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This was why he had never had a problem with hubris and never would. Unlike certain others. He knew only too well how fine a line there was between intellect and delusion, genius and madness. It was as slippery a matter as the very struggle between Order and Chaos themselves. And that probably was not a coincidence.

Hmm.

Wait a minute.

Yeah. Now there was a thought. It probably wasn’t a coincidence, was it?

So then... what was it?

Morgunov sat up suddenly.

Order and Chaos. Intellect and delusion. Order and Chaos. Genius and madness. Order and Chaos. Death and life. Order and Chaos, Order and Chaos, Order and Chaos...

Hmm.

Destruction. And. Creation.

Or?

Creation. And. Destruction?

It all made sense to him now. And yet, none of it did.  

Was this, too, as it was supposed to be?

There was a grand separation between merely understanding something and manifesting that knowledge into reality. Understanding how to build a thermonuclear warhead, for instance, was one thing, but actually building one--now that was quite another thing, wasn't it? There were little differences here and there that came with the genuine experience. Philosophizing and intellectualizing were only good up to a point.

He wondered how well the ancient "gods" of this world had known that. Hmm. Perhaps they'd known it even better than he?

Well, if they hadn't known it then, they certainly knew it now, didn't they?

Eheheh.

He stroked his chin.

Whoa, there was a lot more hair there than he remembered. When was the last time he'd shaved? Two years ago? Ten? No telling.

'Hey, Bool, when was the last time I shaved?' he asked.

The response arrived so slowly that Morgunov thought Bool might've been giving him the silent treatment again. '...I have no idea,' the reaper said from elsewhere in the underground compound.

Morgunov probably could have located him more precisely if he concentrated, but he didn't really feel like it. 'Hey, are you mad at me again?'

'Always.'

'Aww.'

'Are you finally finished playing around with your toys?' Bool asked. 'The world is still in dire need of purging.'

'Eheh.'

There came a pause. 'What is that laugh for?'

'You sure love your purges, don't you?'

'You used to love them, too, as I recall. Before you got lazy.'

'I dunno. After the hundredth one, they got kinda boring, y'know?'

'Morgunov.' There arrived a familiar sigh. 'I know I might as well be talking to a tree at this point, but I shall keep trying, nonetheless. This is a serious matter. The Vanguard is at an advantage, right now.'

Morgunov picked his nose and inspected the booger. 'Oh, are they?'

'Yes. If you continue to do nothing, they may soon destroy the whole of Abolish.'

'Uh-huh...'

Another sigh. 'If you would take to the field but one time, I am sure that we could--'

'Eh, I'm sure my boy can handle it.'

'Jercash has his back against the wall, at the moment. If you care for him at all, then you should--'

'I JUST told you he could handle it.'

'Yes, but if Sermung or Jackson--'

'Hey, I had an idea I wanna run by you real quick.'

Another noticeable pause arrived. '...What is it?'

'You remember that time I went a little crazy?'

'...You will have to be more specific.'

'In Bellvine. With the whole rainbow slime situation?'

'I was not present for that. You deliberately left me behind, remember?'

'Oh, yeah. But you remember me telling you about it afterwards, right?'

'Yes. Why?'

'You know, that was one of the few times in my life that I've heard a voice in my head that wasn't you.'

'...I do not think that is true at all.'

'Hmm? Oh, yeah, sure, I've heard loads of other voices, but ultimately, I knew those were all still ME.'

'...I doubt that as well.'

'Okay, maybe I got a little muddled here or there,' said Morgunov, 'but I'm telling you, it's the truth. There's a nuance to it that I don't think you--or most people, really--can appreciate. When voices are just appearing in your mind from your very own imagination or subconscious, there is a difference. Compared to when someone is trying to invade your mind? Talk to you? Plant ideas in your head? Control you? You can feel the intent behind it. That's the thing that never changes. The will of the speaker.'

'I suppose you would be an authority on that subject, wouldn't you?' said Bool.

'Eheheh. Yeah. I wish another telepath would try to play with me again. The last time was so much fun.'

'After what you did to the Weaver, I doubt any of them would be so stupid.'

'Hey, she did that to herself. It wasn't my fault.'

'If you say so. Why are you bringing all of this up, anyway?'

'Because I had a thought. That time in Bellvine. I searched for so long afterward, but I never did find the source of that voice I was hearing.'

'Yes, I recall it causing you quite a bit of frustration.'

'That voice was so bossy. It really wanted my body.' Morgunov paused for a chortle to himself. 'It seemed very upset when it realized that my will was stronger than its own.'

'Didn't you say that you had an idea that you wanted to run by me? What does any of this have to do with that?'

'Oh, because I was thinking I might like to give that another go.'

'What? You want to try merging with a primordial ooze again?'

'Hmm? No, no! That would be boring! Merging is boring! But pets?! Pets never get boring! Everyone loves pets!'

'...Come again?' said Bool.

'One of these so-called primordial "gods" would make for a great pet, don't you think?' said Morgunov. 'No, not just a great pet. The BEST pet. Right? You agree, don't you?'

'I am sorry,' said Bool. 'I must be misunderstanding something. You want to turn an ancient being of untold power into your PET?'

Morgunov's smile widened. 'Yep!' He bounded off of his fuzzy beanbag and onto his feet again.

'And. Um. Okay. How do you plan to pull that off, exactly?'

'That IS the question, isn't it?'

'You don't even have an idea?'

'Eheh. Didn't say that.'

The reaper sighed yet again. 'Were you not trying to turn feldeaths into your pets, also?'

Morgunov's expression soured a little. 'No. That was for aberration research. Feldeaths wouldn't make good pets. Don't be stupid.'

'Oh, but an ancient god would be a better choice?'

'Duh!'

'Why? You're not making any sense.'

'Because! A feldeath is just a creature of pure instinct. There's no rational mind there to converse with. There's no ego to be laid low. You can't humble a feldeath. They have no pride.'

'Ah... and what if you can't control whatever "god" you manage to find?'

'Eheh. Well, then, things will get fun.'

'Morgunov. This isn't--' But the reaper didn't finish.

And Morgunov was made to wonder why.

'Actually,' said Bool with a sudden spark of enthusiasm, 'you might just be onto something.'

'You think so?'

'I do. And of course, if you intend to find yourself a pet god, then I suppose you'll have to do some rather extensive traveling, won't you?'

'Hmm. Yeah, I suppose I will.'

'What could be more fun than that?' said Bool. 'Exploring the world for ancient secrets?'

'Yeah! It's been a long time since I went on a proper adventure!'

'Make sure you bring plenty of your gadgets and tools. Never know when you might need something,' said Bool.

'Right!'

'And personnel, as well.'

'Oh. You think?'

'Of course. More people will help the search go faster. And besides, traveling in a group is always more enjoyable than doing it alone.'

'Hmm-hmm.'

'And we have many fantastic subordinates who are eager to help you. You have not even met some of them yet. Let us send out word for them all to begin gathering. We shall make a party out of it.'

'Okay! I mean, I know you're trying to trick me, but I don't care, because it just sounds so great!'

'That is perfectly fine with me.'