A deafening roar reverberated through the chamber, splintering the mirrors with a web of new cracks. Another colossal fist struck the glass barrier, sending tremors through the room and deepening the fractures on its surface.
The mysterious peddler giggled softly, stepping forward. "Why are you acting like this? It’s not like he’s the only—"
"Silence, you filthy traitor!" Sibiru roared, fists pounding the barrier again. "How dare you speak to me."
The tower trader's laughter grew louder as he inched closer to the cracks. "Still mad about that, are you? I can't even remember how long ago it was, but I guess an authority of envy would never forget," he said, stopping a few feet from the fractured barrier.
"I said, silence!" Sibiru's roar was thunderous, its fists hammering the barrier harder.
The trader gazed at the monstrous silhouette behind the glass. "So much anger," he muttered, suppressing another laugh. "So, what if I’m a traitor? I’m here, aren’t I? Unlike you and the others. You should have known when to relinquish your authority. I warned you all this could happen."
Sibiru's fists pounded furiously against the barrier, but the calamitous blows failed to break through.
"Scary," the trader taunted, his voice dripping with derision. "I have a hunch why you’re here, Sibiru. Honestly, I don’t care. Normally, I wouldn’t interfere, but I’m interested in one of them."
"Traitor! You dare lust after what’s mine?" Sibiru bellowed, slamming its fists even harder. At that moment, hands gripped either side of the cracked glass, slowly prying the barrier apart.
Unflinching, the trader locked eyes with the enraged entity. "I have no interest in him," he chuckled softly. "Even if I did, nothing could stop me. It’s not like you’re going to."
"Arcanis!" Sibiru roared, its fury palpable. "Don’t test me!"
"Oh, that’s a name I haven’t heard in a long, long time," the trader mused, taking another step closer to the crack. "Nothing you say or do will reach him. This one isn’t bound to you. Give up," he advised.
“You dare lecture me?” Sibiru roared, its hands straining against the invisible barrier of the mirror domain. “I don’t care who or what it is, no one can have him if I can’t! He’s mine, and mine alone!”
The trader advanced, his steps measured and deliberate. He sighed softly, shaking his head. “You never change, Sibiru. That’s why calamity befell you and the others,” he said, stopping a few paces away.
“Sibiru, for old times’ sake, leave now. The administrator hasn’t noticed you yet. You don’t want to be here when he descends. Trust me on this,” the trader urged.
“You think I fear—” Sibiru began, but the trader interjected, his voice taking on a darker, more powerful tone. “You should. Every being who challenged his authority has been erased from existence. Your power is but a mere…” The trader paused, then giggled ominously. “It seems you’ll have the misfortune of witnessing it yourself.”
A massive distortion appeared above the mirrors encasing the ceiling, and through it, a being with eyes that seemed to bear the weight of millions of worlds emerged.
Apart from Scott, the rest of the champions were frozen in time. The voidweaver instinctively raised his head toward the entity, once again staring into those abyssal eyes that seemed to uphold the fabric of existence itself.
The eyes, however, focused on the cracks caused by Sibiru’s malignant constructs. They trembled violently as if sensing their natural enemy. The ominous mass behind the mirror domain stirred wildly, and the hands vanished without a trace.
“You still have some sense,” the trader chuckled softly, then turned to the distortion above. “Your entrances are as impressive as always, administrator, but as you can see, there’s nothing left for you to do here.”
The eyes turned away from the trader, lingered on Scott for a few moments, then the distortion vanished.
“It’s okay, you can move now,” the trader said.
Scott turned, noticing his companions had disappeared. He knew that each of them was either engaged in conversation with the trader or had already concluded their business. Narrowing his eyes, Scott focused on the trader. “Who are you?” he questioned, the details of the exchange between the mysterious peddler and Sibiru still fresh in his mind.
The tower trader chuckled softly as he approached Scott with measured steps. “Why are you asking the obvious? Didn’t I mention that I was the tower trader?” he said, stopping a few feet away. “I can see you’ve been hanging out with the lesser god of illusion. He seems to dislike others peeking at you. But why didn’t you ask him to help your companions too?”
Scott’s brows furrowed deeply. How the trader had instantly identified the source of his blessing left him confused but not entirely surprised.
“Let me guess, you have something that can help them,” Scott said after a brief pause, his voice edged with skepticism.
“That’s why I like you,” the tower trader chuckled. “You’re right. So, are you interested?”
“Before we talk about that, what was that earlier?” Scott asked, his curiosity piqued. He wasn’t one to miss an opportunity to satiate his curiosity.
“I’m sorry, my friend, but that’s not something you need to know. Especially now that you have no attachments to your other variants,” the trader replied, his tone cryptic.
Scott’s eyes widened momentarily as a realization struck him. “You’re present in all timelines too?”
The trader chuckled again. “Of course. I wouldn’t be called the tower trader if I were only present in this one.”
Scott prepared to ask another question but paused, a newfound clarity dawning on him. “Can I send messages across timelines?”
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.
“Of course,” the trader replied instantly. “But you don’t have the authority to make such a trade just yet. Sadly, by the time you’re authorized, it might be useless to you.”
Scott frowned; his gaze fixed on the trader. Despite his intense scrutiny, the eerie mist veiling the trader’s features remained impenetrable.
“Why did you come here?” Scott asked suddenly.
“I sensed the presence of my favorite customer,” the trader giggled, but Scott’s icy glare met him.
“All right, relax. I was conducting a trade nearby and sensed Sibiru’s presence along with that of your companions. I was surprised to find you here too. The lesser god of illusion did quite a remarkable job,” the trader explained.
“The old order, is that a reference to the rulers of the previous epoch?” Scott asked abruptly.
“Look at you, figuring things out on your own. What else have you pieced together? Talk to me,” the tower trader said, his voice laced with ambiguity.
“Don’t patronize me,” Scott retorted. “Is that information available for purchase? If so, what’s the cost?”
The tower trader stepped forward, Scott sensing a powerful gaze mixed with curiosity and calculation. “While it’s valuable information, I’m not necessarily selling,” he began. “For you, however, I’m willing to make an exception. As for the price, we can discuss that when, or should I say if, you make it past the point of no return.” The trader halted directly in front of Scott, his presence imposing.
“The tower has existed far longer than most beings can fathom. No one knows its true origins or how long it will remain, but each epoch, champions are called from all over the multiverse. Each is given an opportunity to become rulers of the next epoch. Like a human kingdom, for a new king to reign, the former must either die or willingly abdicate his throne. In the tower, however, lesser gods willingly give up their authority and move to a higher plane of existence. But, like some kings who endlessly thirst for power, some refuse to relinquish authority. After all, the allure of power is something even gods find irresistible. Occasionally, these gods clash with the newer generations, both contesting for authority. Most of the time, the new generation triumphs, but it’s not surprising if remnants of the old order win.” The trader paused, allowing Scott to digest the knowledge.
A moment later, he continued, “In situations where the old order triumphs, authorities are seized by the administrator, who becomes responsible for ruling the next epoch. Afterward, they too must let go of their authority for the next generation—”
“An administrator can’t refuse like the lesser gods?” Scott interjected.
“It’s impossible,” the trader replied with a chuckle. “They are beholden to serve the tower. They can’t do anything that would harm the natural flow of things.”
“Wait, how is the new generation supposed to fight gods from two generations ago? Is that even possible?” Scott asked, skepticism evident in his voice.
“You underestimate how powerful people can become,” the trader said. “Trust me, while some gods can be absurdly powerful, no one is infinitely powerful. Eventually, you’ll meet someone more powerful. The competition still has a long way to go before any of the current generation starts fighting for authority.”
Scott assimilated the trader’s words, falling into deep thought. He soon snapped out of his pensive state and posed another question, “How many of the gods know about Hastur?”
The tower trader exploded into laughter, an ominous and powerful voice echoing, “The King in Yellow. They are patiently awaiting his arrival.”
At that same moment, a chill coursed through Scott's spine as the trader continued, “Think your actions through. Your existence promises war, one that will alter the course of reality. Should a higher being descend into this plane, then the bridge between planes would be opened for all to pass. Entities that have been lying dormant since the existence of time itself would be stirred too. There are gods who can hardly wait, as well as those who dread it.”
“Why has none of them erased my existence?” Scott's voice trembled with frustration, unable to find a clear answer.
“There are two reasons,” the tower trader replied, his voice steady and confident. “First, gods can’t directly interfere with the champions. Secondly, many are curious to see what changes a war might bring. Like I said, power is truly irresistible.”
Scott's mind raced, scenarios flickering through his thoughts like lightning. He opened his mouth to speak, but the trader cut him off. “I know you have questions, but this isn’t the right place or time. I’ve applied the necessary blessings to your companions. No one will be able to trace them either.”
“What do I owe in return?” Scott asked, wary of the cost. Nothing was ever free in the scheming tower.
“It’s been paid for by an anonymous benefactor,” the trader said with a chuckle.
Scott frowned, sensing the trader wouldn’t reveal the benefactor’s identity even if pressed.
“Do you know where the hidden path is located?” Scott asked after a brief pause.
“Your inquisitive companion has already figured it out. I really like him,” the trader declared, stepping back with a mysterious air. “I wish you good luck… oh, and one final thing: think carefully before you venture onto the hidden path. What awaits you is…” He stopped abruptly. “Forget I said anything. You’ll find out yourself. It’s more exciting that way. See you later, my friend,” the trader said, waving as he approached the mirrors.
Scott watched as the tower trader vanished into the reflective surfaces, a newfound clarity settling in his mind. He remained still, feeling Ember’s hands on his shoulders. He looked straight ahead, but there wasn’t a single reflection in sight. The voidweaver turned his head, scanning the mirrors above and below, but none showed their reflections.
“Are you guys awake?” Scott called out on the party channel.
Silence answered him, filling Scott with understanding. He had been the first to recover from the encounter with the peddler.
Seconds piled up into minutes. Suddenly, a familiar laughter echoed, and Orion’s voice filled the air. “I really love talking to that guy,” he declared.
“You’re finally awake, huh?” Scott said mentally. “Do you have the coordinates of the hidden path?”
“Yes,” Orion replied, unsurprised that Scott had woken up ahead of him. “But I have a feeling it’s not going to be as straightforward as we might think,” he warned, a hint of doubt in his words.
“Can you send a clone there?” Scott asked, intrigued.
“Already did,” the mage replied with a chuckle. “It was brutally killed barely a minute after it arrived.”
“By the monster?” Scott asked, his brows furrowing.
“Oh no,” Orion said, shaking his head. “It was a person who killed it, a very powerful one at that. They had already slain the creature in the hidden path. I don’t think we should—” Orion suddenly paused.
A magical circle lit up beneath the motionless champions, enveloping them in a blinding flash of light.
“Ah, it seems we don’t have a choice,” Orion muttered ruefully.
At that same moment, the other champions recovered from their meeting with the tower trader. The sudden bright flashes left them stunned. Before anyone could comprehend what was happening, they disappeared and reappeared in a massive underground chamber illuminated by thousands, if not millions, of gems.
None of the champions focused on their surroundings. Instead, they stared at a massive corpse pinned down and mutilated by hundreds of massive blades. The slain creature had all seven heads decapitated—some smashed into a mangled mess, others strewn across the ground. Yet, the champions' attention was drawn to a singular figure covered in blackened blood, seated on top of the gigantic corpse.
“The saintess prophesied that you’d come here eventually, as long as I was patient. But I didn’t expect it would be so soon.” Alex stood up, his voice echoing once more. “You ran away last time. I won’t give you that chance again, Scott.”
Scott stepped forward, but Ember reached for his arm, her voice filling his mind. “He’s a lesser god candidate. He’s not someone—”
Scott gently yanked his arm away from the dragonkin, his voice filling her mind. “I’m not afraid,” he declared, the cracks in his right eye stirring.
He turned toward Alex, the one-time friends locking gazes. “I will say this once. I am neither the Eidolon of envy of this timeline, nor do I have any connection to my other variants. I’m not responsible for the tragedy that befell you and the others—”
“I don’t care!” Alex declared powerfully.
Scott nodded softly, and his shadow darkened. The war hammer of the mad god emerged from the abyss, nestling in the voidweaver’s grasp.
“Come. I’ll put an end to your suffering!” he declared.