Chapter 9
World consciousness
Consciousness dimensional space
In a dimension both connected and disconnected from the world of mortals and other living beings there was a form.
It had existed for so long it had forgotten, but with beings like it, the age is never sure for before they come into consciousness they are simply an existence in the process of creation.
The being detached itself from its main body and formed another, it had been weakened so many times it had to separate itself to ensure its continual survival.
The beings before it were souls, fractured remnants of those who had lived and died. Some were so profoundly damaged, so utterly broken by their experiences, that they were mere flecks of consciousness, shimmering motes only able to cry out their grievances in disjointed wails and despairing cries. Others retained a semblance of their former selves, their identities clinging to them like tattered shrouds.
The being manifested as a male who had somewhat human features but his features, though undeniably masculine, were refined and possessed a captivating beauty that transcended mortal understanding. His form was impossibly tall, easily over thirty meters, sitting regally upon a throne meticulously crafted from the shattered remains of his own previously destroyed world core. A testament to a devastating past.
The cold fire that pulsed within the core had cracks running through it, exposing the molten green energy within. The vibrant color of the cosmic energy, a shade never seen in the mortal realm, blended seamlessly with the pitch-black outer layer, creating an mesmerizing display of contrasting forces.
His attire was an ancient, exquisitely embroidered gold Chinese robes from the eastern dynasties, resembling the raiment of an immortal emperor. It was complete with an elaborate head crown adorned with jade and pearls, with silky straight snow-white strands cascading down his back, reaching almost to the base of his spine. Fox-shaped eyes, rimmed with impossibly long lashes, brushed his perfectly sculpted cheekbones like the softest white feathers each time he blinked. Though such an action was unnecessary for his kind, he still did it, each time his eyes were opened exposing glowing silver orbs that stood out starkly against the endless black void that surrounded him.
He had consciously chosen this specific form because of her. He had observed her preferences, her unconscious desires, and noted her affinity for males with these traits and those wearing well-tailored suits, all with muscular builds.
He had been watching her, an unnoticed observer, from the moment she first floated in the silent void of space as a nascent soul, adrift and lost. He watched as she suddenly materialized in his world, drawn by an unknown force.
Initially, he had considered destroying her, dismissing her as just another invader seeking to exploit his weakened state. But curiosity, or perhaps something akin to hope, stayed his hand. He decided to watch, even entering the mortal world himself, adopting the guise of that man just so he could be closer, to understand her motives and perhaps, her potential.
A friend? Was that all he could be?
He wanted more, a connection that transcended the boundaries of existence, but he could only settle for reproduction in that borrowed body, even though he knew he could never truly have her. The eggs she had provided, infused with her unique essence, were good enough for now. The body he possessed, painstakingly crafted, was an excellent vessel, anyway he had carefully made it just to understand her more at the opportune time.
The power of belief, a fragile yet potent force, is something even those mired in dissatisfaction secretly crave, hoping for a sliver of success to latch onto. It was a fundamental aspect of humanity, a species so paradoxical that they were often inexplicably favored.
Resentment festered within the souls of those who yearned for justice, a justice eternally denied in their mortal lives. Now, they found themselves reliant on a single individual, one granted the extraordinary power to record their experiences for the world to witness, to potentially ignite a spark of empathy and action.
Their collective fury was immense, yet their power remained limited, barely sufficient to coalesce into a spectral aid, a second chance for her through a borrowed body, granting her one more opportunity to make a difference.
“Use us…” a voice echoed, filled with centuries of pain.
“We have suffered so…” another pleaded, the words heavy with unspoken tragedies.
“If we were the anchor of the world…” a third chimed in, a desperate offering of self.
“Unjust death!” a chorus cried, their voices a cacophony of righteous anger.
“They say I was the darling of heaven!” a woman lamented, the echo of a lost title lingering in the air.
“They said I could save a nation!” a regal voice boomed, a monument to shattered expectations.
“They made me bow my head!” a man snarled, the bitterness of betrayal coating his words.
“Such grievances!” the multitude roared, their discontent a palpable wave.
“We will sacrifice ourselves if she could avenge us!” they vowed, united in their desire for retribution.
“Power!”
“Strength!”
“Domination!”
“Willing…”
The World Consciousness, an ancient and weary entity, observed the spectral figures clamoring for vengeance, their desire to sacrifice their very essence to empower her a testament to her impact. “Do you think she is truly willing to bear this burden?” it questioned, its voice a low rumble that resonated through the ethereal plane.
“She wrote our stories as is, unflinchingly, authentically. She was the catalyst who helped us solidify our forms, to gain a semblance of understanding within this chaotic realm. It is only right that we repay our debt,” a calm voice reasoned, cutting through the clamor.
“You will become her, and she you. If you merge, she…” The World Consciousness hesitated, weighing the implications of such a profound union.
“With her, your world can have a chance to survive. It may be irrevocably altered, the beings dwelling upon it may suffer in unforeseen ways, but that is inconsequential. This is, after all, a trial, a crucible for those who crave power, a proving ground for resilience,” another soul declared, unwavering in its conviction.
The World Consciousness remained silent, the weight of its responsibility pressing heavily upon it. It had already expended a significant amount of energy, weakened by the relentless onslaught of the invaders. “The invaders will not cease their attacks until you collapse, until your very essence is extinguished. Books constitute your world, for that is what you chose as your form of existence, a testament to the power of stories,” one of the more lucid souls reminded it, but the World Consciousness remained absorbed in thought, grappling with the immense decision before it.
With a thought, it waved allowing the requests of the souls, first it will return to the world outside and sort the offspring, they will help anchor her to him.
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