Moving with easy calm, Yariel walked to the bed and sat down on it; as Topher watched, incredulously, he kicked off his shoes and laid back upon its pillows, staring up at the blank ceiling above. "We have all the time we need at this point, so I can explain the rest of what might be confusing you. You can keep attacking me if you want; it won't matter."

"I don't give a shit about your --" Topher started, but Yariel ignored him and began speaking anyway.

"I've been here a long time," he began, stretching out luxuriously upon the bed, "and I've spent a lot of my time excavating the past of this world." His voice deepened and became more sonorous as his mode of speech formalized, becoming more declamatory than conversational; Topher reeled at the strange, abrupt transition, and felt disquiet at the unpredictability of it all. "Long ago, in a time so distant as to be beyond antiquity, the original beings of this place inhabited it; they had no names for themselves, but I find it useful to refer to them as as the Old Ones."

"This place was very different then," he continued; "more of a sea than a globe, boundless in all directions. The Old Ones themselves are harder to describe, for they were creatures more of philosophy than biology, malleable and fluid; their forms were no doubt bizarre and horrifying to us, eldritch and fanciful as they were. Imagine a creature that, rather than moving nearer to an object to inspect it, simply grew more precise eyes; a simplification, but perhaps an instructive one." Topher's face twisted as he tried to absorb this information, but he kept quiet; instead, he began edging slowly towards the Kiku-no-Tsurugi, hoping the other man would remain talkative.

"The Old Ones could shape the world around them at will, molding space and matter as they pleased," Yariel went on. "They were intelligent, but not as we understand intelligence. To them, everything was freedom and experimentation; they could harm each other, but they could also undo that harm, and so whatever existences they led would be incomprehensible to our ways of thinking. Uncounted eons passed as they shaped and changed and warred and played together, until the coming of the First Hero."

At this, Topher stopped short; a horrible crawling feeling ran down his spine, leaving icy horror behind. "What the fuck?"

"The Old Ones had begun to meddle with reality itself," Yariel explained. "Space and time were already pliable to them, and it was only natural that they should push what flimsy boundaries existed in that endless, primordial realm. One of their first experiments brought a creature -- one supposes it was a man -- from our world to theirs. Records of this period are scarce -- scarcer even than that which preserves knowledge of the formless time which preceded it -- but I have something of a talent for history." He rose from the bed and began pacing, his sightless gaze sweeping about the room like a hand groping.

"Upon arriving in this world," he related, "the First Hero found that he could do as the Old Ones did -- shape this place to his will, limited only by his imagination. But, as a native of our world, he had knowledge of one thing that the Old Ones did not; structure. The First Hero began to impose Edicts -- laws that reality could not disobey -- and by their nature, such rules could not be undone by the beings which had brought him here." Topher's breath stopped; a dreadful understanding, a bone-deep knowing, had begun to penetrate through his mind. "At first, they were simple things -- small areas of stability and form that did not dissolve and break apart, but instead provided ground upon which to stand and air to breathe. The Old Ones, likely amused at first by this behavior, eventually realized that they had opened a door that they could not close."

With a gesture, the Infinite King conjured an image of shadows and light above him; it was crude, like stick-figure painting, and Topher realized belatedly that the other man probably had no idea what visual stimuli even looked like. But he could at least vaguely understand the image; it showed odd, writhing blotches which bobbed about in an empty space. "It is unknown if they feared what was happening; I do not know if they were even capable of emotions as we comprehend them. But I do know that as the First Hero continued remaking this realm to his will, spreading orthodoxy outward like a consuming fire, the Old Ones banded together in an attempt to halt or at least limit the damage." He shook his head sadly; in the image, the blotches drew together as if joining forces. "But, like the rest of this world, they had no defense against his dominion; and thus, one by one, they were extinguished. Some few no doubt survived for a time, buried in the deep places of the earth and driving men mad with incomprehensible visions, but they were like fish trapped in shrinking pools of water; isolated, effectless, and ultimately eradicated." One by one, the blotches in the image shrank, contracted, and flickered out; eventually, the image itself dimmed into nothingness.

"But he died," Topher protested, shaking the savaged remnants of the book at him feebly. "If he was as invincible as you say -- shit, as you claim to be -- how could he die?"

"I'm getting to that," Yariel replied, nodding. "We're still way back in the before-times, when this universe was still getting figured out." His voice returned to its formal register; Topher had the impression he was reciting all of this from memory. An inkling of what must be going on in the other man's mind chilled him -- depths of complexity and duplicity that his own mind shied away from in fear. "It is possible that this world was created as a paradise; but if so, it did not long remain one. As you might imagine, the First Hero peopled the lands and places he had created with such beings as were pleasing to him; perhaps friends and comrades at first, but later subjects and slaves." A flicker of scorn crossed the other man's face, but it smoothed itself away almost instantly. "He defined rigorously the ways such power as he possessed could be accessed by others, reserving total authority only for himself; and, for a span of time unknown, he ruled this place as an invincible god-king."

Horribly, Topher understood -- he understood precisely. "Spells," he breathed, aghast. "Spells were the First Hero's way to control that power."

"Quite so," said Yariel, nodding approvingly. "But, eventually, flaws were found in his systems and policies, and he was overthrown; and, as is the way of such things, his successor could not do otherwise than descend to new depths of despotism to forestall a similar fate. And thus this world, over uncountable time, was shaped and changed by a progression of demiurges who circumscribed, refined, and codified the rules for their little toy universe in an ever-shrinking spiral of restriction." He walked to the dresser and poured himself a glass of water, then drank it; Topher, his mind humming with the importance of everything he was hearing, was too addled to even notice. "From such strictures the other scaffolds of this world were teased; the Attribute, the Class, the Skill, and eventually the Status -- one system to define and delimit every living creature, culminating in the ascendancy of the so-called Infinite King. Desiring servants beyond what this world could provide, he Summoned others -- the Five Immortal Beasts, men who willingly became dragons for the power it promised -- and with their aid he consolidated and finalized the systems of magic and metaphysics you see today. But men," he digressed, his tone changing and becoming more ominous, "were not to rule the world forever."

"What?" Topher blinked. "Are you talking about the other races? Like the elves? But Kelfir said that the elves were already here when Vashyarl and the others changed them."

"Among others," Yariel agreed. "Throughout the chaos and turmoil of their rule, the demiurges -- and later, the mages, alchemists, and beastmasters -- created other beings to be their playthings, their weapons, and their servants. Many remain -- the elves, the gnomes, and such -- but others were more exotic and dangerous, and many were not created for safety or sustainability." He walked back to the portal-map, staring down at the earth once more. "Some of these destroyed each other, while others were contained or expunged by humanity; but one race -- the demons -- survived and prospered, viewing the humans as threats with whom they could not coexist. They struggled and warred across this world, wrecking and ruining all that was unspoiled, until the Infinite King and the leader of the demons clashed -- and the battle yielded an unexpected victor." He nodded towards the tattered remnants of the book Topher was still clutching helplessly. "You hold the record of it, or what remains thereof. The first Demon Lord cast down the Infinite King, defeating and destroying him utterly."

The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

Topher shook his head; he stared down at the bloody pages, uncomprehending. "But how? If he was so invincible -- infinity in every stat, possessed of every Skill -- how could he be killed? Shit, how could he even be harmed?"

"As I said," Yariel replied with another shrug, "flaws. Maybe he worded his Edicts poorly, or missed a hole in his defenses; vulnerability to blood-magic, perhaps, with which the demons have always been inventive. But whatever the method, the results were clear; the Infinite King was dead, and the Demon Lord was the victor."

"It would be wrong to say there was peace afterwards," he continued; "merely a regrouping. But the humans and other races had no hope of victory; after all, how do you defeat a being which has just killed your living god? They needed something, anything, that could counter the power of the Demon Lord -- a weapon beyond any power they had themselves." He gestured at the portals once more, and the image shifted again; a forlorn Quint Aumraham, searching fruitlessly for survivors in the wreckage of the Demesne's seat of authority. "Thus, they turned to the mages, who had only one hope: the Summoning Spell which had brought the First Hero, the Infinite King, and the Five Immortal Beasts. And it Summoned me."

"Not just me, obviously," he demurred to forestall Topher's interruption, "and certainly not in that initial Summoning -- I came much later, roughly a hundred years ago. But it Summoned many of us, dreamers and drifters from all walks of life. But, unlike the denizens of this place, we were from a world that had become more connected -- a world of idle distractions, where fantasy, video games, and all the corresponding social dysfunctions far beyond the imaginations of the previous generations of Otherworlders had had time to proliferate into our preconceptions. And when the hammer of the Status met the anvil of our self-concept, warped and honed by modernity, it forged something new. Diversity, variegation, idiosyncrasy; call it what you like. But each of us was changed."

"Motherfucker," growled Topher, "stop being impressed with your own cleverness and spit it out."

Yariel laughed, a sound full of wretched emotion; and again, as the veil between his actions and his inner self split, Topher was horrified and awed by what he glimpsed beyond. "The Summoning bestows greatness and potential in equal measure to each person it conveys to this world; however, it does not bestow them equally to each. Some -- the S-Rankers -- are given tremendous power and ability; but, by their very nature, they cannot grow much beyond that power." He flicked his empty gaze to where Sugimoto had been torn apart with no visible emotion. "To others, it bestows puissance and potentiality in more or less equal measure: the lower-ranked heroes. And to some, it bestows no power at all, but a limitless prospect of growth: the F-Rankers. Like you. Like me."

Topher thought he had been exposed to every horror the other man could chill him with; but the ramifications of what he was hearing managed to shock him even through his numbness. "You've got to be kidding me," he gasped. "You're an F-Ranker?!"

Yariel nodded again. "I was blind from a young age; some disease or infection, I think. Arriving in this world, my sight was not restored; but instead, I was given a Unique Skill that I had always craved and coveted: access to the realms of imagination. My Unique Skill, Understand Literature, seemed worthless to everyone else -- like a man in a wheelchair being granted a 'functioning legs' power. Understandably so, I feel, especially to those who had been gifted wondrous or godlike powers or strengths." His face twisted with emotion again, but once again it was gone before Topher could blink. "But you, I imagine, have some inkling of what such a power might do in this world."

He turned back to face Topher again. "While the rest of the motley band of my fellow sojourners did battle against the Demon Lord and his armies, I studied the precepts and particulars of knowledge; not only of magic as this world defines it, but of thought, logistics, and mechanics. Within a month, I was a strategic and tactical genius; within a year, I was more powerful than the greatest of the Archmages, ascendant and preeminent. By the time my involvement in the war became necessary," he remarked immodestly, "it was already a foregone conclusion; I mastered the demons almost effortlessly."

"And then," he continued, "I saved them."

He gestured around him at the strange plaques and plates, which continued to move on hidden mechanisms throughout the room in some ineffable pattern Topher couldn't even really perceive, let alone understand. "This is the lair of the original Infinite King; these runes are records of the Edicts that he laid down or discovered already in place. With my Understand Literature Skill, I could master them all -- and much more besides. The Infinite King had been long dead -- this place, unused and empty. And with this power, I could do more than simply defeat an enemy."

"I changed their forms," he went on, "making them indistinguishable from the humans who had warred against them; I granted them new powers, to spawn and shed flesh as needed. And I forged them into a new, secret society -- hidden within and among the humans -- and set them a simple task: to prune and excise the others from my world." Topher, his hands clenching into fists again, knew what he would hear next; but he couldn't stop it, couldn't keep himself from wanting to hear it all laid bare. "Gently, invisibly, and silently, they muddled and misdirected the humans' efforts to overthrow them -- an enemy that no longer even existed -- until none remained. But knowledge of the Summoning Spell was not so easily expunged, preserved as it was by an Edict of a long-forgotten demiurge; and so the contagion occasionally re-erupts. There is, of course, a containment protocol -- you know it well."

"You bastard," Topher whispered. "You fucking bastard."

"First," Yariel droned on, ignoring him, "we scatter and demoralize the F-Rankers, before they can even become cognizant of their true capabilities or potential; with prompt action, it is the easiest phase of the operation." He flicked towards the portals again, zooming out the view until it encompassed the ruined battlefield where so many humans and demons had perished. "Then we destroy the S-Rankers, breaking the spirits and courage of those who remain; from there, we simply clear away the debris. It was a logical, functional system; it worked for my Summoning and the next, and thus was equilibrium kept."

Finally winding down, he turned back to Topher; his empty gaze pierced the air somewhere off to Topher's left. "Until you," he finished dully.

"But that's fucking insane," Topher protested, meeting the other man's apathy with fire. "You didn't have to fucking murder everybody!"

"I usually didn't," Yariel agreed listlessly. "I spared people whenever I could. I left Hana and Ichirou alive until they became threats; I let Oguro cower in his little shop until you started getting close to him." Beneath the smooth, placid surface of the cold analysis, Topher began to detect the barest undercurrents of venom. "I kept just enough pressure on Rudo to keep him in hiding; why do you think I sent him only assassins he could kill, instead of better ones?" He faced Topher squarely, looking straight through him. "Everything could have worked out. I gave you a lot of chances."

"Chances to do what?!" Topher howled, throwing the tattered remnants of the book away in frustration. "To get myself and everybody I cared about killed? To do your fucking dirty work and murder teenagers who run amok with power because they don't know any better?! To butcher kids like..."

Abruptly, he got it; terribly, tragically, he understood. "Like you," he whispered, horrified.

His guts seized and twisted with empathy; he felt like he was going to vomit. "You've been here a hundred years," Topher went on, awed, "but you never let yourself grow up. You're still an omnipotent teenager, just like the S-Rankers."

"Don't be an idiot," Yariel retorted dully. "I have been through things you cannot imagine." He began to pace, slowly at first, but increasing in agitation even as Topher watched; his bare feet made comical slapping sounds on the hard stone floor. "The only reason anyone has lived this long --"

"...is because you took control, right?" Topher shook his head, feeling like he was a rat running through the same maze over and over again; for a hundred and fifty-eight days, he sighed to himself. "You, with your top-tier intelligence, your infinite power, are obviously the best person to make decisions for everyone. Remind you of anybody?" He flung his arm wide, pointing at where Quint struggled atop a mountain of grief and loss. "You're no different than any of them. Suzume, Quint, Sahlerra -- all big brains, big balls, and big tits, so certain they should be in charge just because they're the strongest and the smartest."

"As opposed to what?" Yariel asked tonelessly; he turned and faced Topher, a shimmering golden scepter appearing in his hand. "You have someone else you wish to put on the throne? A King who will make decisions you know will be worse?" He flourished the scepter; Topher could see an infinite, fractal space within its golden surfaces, twisting and thrumming with power far beyond his comprehension. "Well, maybe. But you'll have to beat me first."