Chapter 3: 03. The Primordial Lord

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Word Count: 2690 Words

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A Year Later

Standing within the confines of a rustic barn near a sprawling castle, a sixteen-year-old boy gazed into the golden fields. The crops swayed gently under the breeze, whispering secrets to the silent observer. His expression was vacant, a shroud of indifference cloaking the sharp features of his handsome face. His misted eyes seemed lost in a realm far beyond the reality of his surroundings, his body rooted to the ground as though bound by unseen chains.

A woman approached him, her steps soft yet purposeful. Her heart ached as her gaze fell upon her son's detached form. A warm smile graced her lips, though her eyes threatened to betray her pain. "My dear Will, let's go. It's time for lunch."

But her words hung unanswered in the air, his silence a dagger to her maternal heart. Steeling herself, she fought back the tears that threatened to spill. 'I cannot break in front of him,' she reminded herself, masking her sorrow with a practiced smile. Gently, she reached for his hand and guided him away from the barn.

The path to the castle wound through a lush garden, vibrant with life. As they walked, her son's hand remained limp in hers. Nearing the castle gates, they skirted the edge of the grounds, avoiding the gathering of men talking, seated in the front garden of the Castle, surrounded by flowers. Among them stood out a regal man engaged in a grave discussion with individuals clad in clerical garb, their flanks bolstered by sharply dressed men in dark suits.

The woman cast a furtive glance toward her husband, who stood tall and resolute. His voice carried faintly on the breeze, heavy with concern.

"Sir Moriarty, the matter is dire," said one of the clerics, his tone clipped with urgency. "Several Beyonders have disappeared in recent weeks. Among them were members of our church. We have already contacted the Church."

The man—Arthur Moriarty—nodded solemnly, his posture exuding authority. "I understand your concerns, Philip. I've already taken measures to tighten security within my territory. Beyond that, there is little more I can do at present."

The woman turned away, her steps quickening as she pulled her son into the shadows of the tall trees lining the garden. The words of the discussion lingered in her ears but were swiftly discarded as she entered the grand hall of the castle. Once inside, she escorted her son to his room before heading to the dining hall.

Arthur was already seated at the long table, his commanding presence filling the room even in stillness. The servants, lined up respectfully, began serving as Jeanne entered and took her place.

"Good afternoon, Arthur," she greeted softly.

"Good afternoon, Jeanne," he replied, nodding curtly. "How was your day?"

"The same as always," she answered, her voice devoid of the warmth they once shared. Neither pursued further conversation, the weight of unspoken worries pressing down upon them.

The silence broke only when Jeanne set her fork down and spoke again. "The Church of the Evernight Goddess visited today. Is there something troubling them?"

Arthur chewed deliberately, taking his time before responding. "People have gone missing. Some of the missing were connected to the church. They came seeking reassurance."

"And is there cause for concern?" she pressed, her eyes narrowing slightly.

Arthur met her gaze. "I have it handled," he said, his tone firm, yet a shadow passed over his features.

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Nightfall

In the stillness of the night, at the highest point of the castle, a spiraling tower rose into the starry heavens. Within its solitary room, a boy lay motionless on a large bed, his features serene in slumber. A man and a woman entered, their steps soft but heavy with emotion.

Arthur and Jeanne gazed down at their son, their eyes brimming with a mix of love and despair. A year had passed since the fateful night they found him in the depths of a forest, his broken body lying amidst a battlefield littered with death.

He had been caught between a monstrous clash—a battle between unknown Beyonders and the People from the Orthodox Churches, luckily to have escaped with his life intact. The sight of their only son, once so full of life, had shattered their hearts.

Arthur had recognized the signs immediately. His son had become a Beyonder, though the means by which this had occurred were a mystery. The Church's response was swift and brutal—inspecting him, to heal him, they declared him a blasphemous existence, a monster. A coming of an Evil God, is what they declared him as.

Faced with the choice of losing his son or defying the Church, Arthur's decision was clear. With cold precision, he eliminated every member of the Church who dared to raise a hand against his boy. Even the priests who visited under the guise of concern later to treat his son, met mysterious accidents on their return journeys.

For months, Arthur and Jeanne had devoted themselves to protecting their son. His once-joyous spirit was now locked away in a lifeless doll-like shell. Desperation drove Arthur to unthinkable lengths.

Opening a briefcase, he revealed a collection of glowing Beyonder Characteristics, their spiritual hum thrumming with power. Each was from a different pathway, their sequences and origins varied. More than half a dozen were meticulously stored within.

Arthur's hand trembled as he removed the shimmering fragments. Jeanne knelt beside her son, gently rousing him from his dreamless slumber. Arthur spoke softly, his voice heavy with resolve.

"This is the only way, my son," he whispered, though the words felt like a curse.

One by one, the Characteristics were dissolved into a mysterious potion, a concoction of their own desperate making. Knowing full well the risks, they could awaken the Original Creator in their son's body, yet they fed the potion to their son, their eyes never leaving his face.

With each dose, vitality returned to his pallid features. Weeks passed, and flickers of recognition began to surface in his once-empty eyes. Hope, fragile but unyielding, blossomed in their hearts.

His eyes regaining the vitality they once housed. Arthur was determined, even if it meant waking up the Will of the Original Creator, if it meant he could gaze at his son's profile, one last time before his death.

He was determined, even if it spelled the doom of the World. His wife was with him on this one.

"He should be at least a King of Angels by now," Arthur joked weakly, attempting to lighten the heavy atmosphere.

Jeanne's response was swift—a sharp kick to his leg, while she remained seated on the edge of the bed, beside her son. But her eyes softened as she glanced at her son. They were in this together, bound by the love for their only child.

While Arthur stood by the bedside, gazing lovingly at his family. 'I'll scour this world, if it means I could protect this. Those Gods can all die.', being one of the branch family of an ancient noble household, the knowledge of the Head of the House was not to be underestimated.

With the family name changed, cutting off all connections to the said family, they had been in peace but the Churches and the Beyonder World had dragged his family through the blood again. They had situated themselves far from the turmoil of all the politics and Beyonder related matters.

Wondering of procuring new supply of Beyonder Characteristics, after his son vomited the potion of many Beyonder Pathways he had tried.

As the last of the potion was administered, their son stirred. His lips parted, struggling to form words, like a fish trying to breath underwater. Their hearts racing at the sight. Their face lit up as they finally heard.

His parents leaned closer, their hearts pounding.

Finally, his hoarse voice broke through the silence, barely audible but unmistakable. "Mother… Father…"

Tears streamed freely down their faces. Jeanne embraced her son tightly, her heart soaring with uncontainable joy. Arthur joined them, his arms encircling the two most precious people in his life.

In that moment, the world and its dangers faded away. They had their son back, and no power—godly or otherwise—would take him from them again. Making all their suffering for the past year worth it.

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An Unknown Time Later, Earth – Fifth Epoch

Walking the bustling streets of a lively city, a lone man clad in an impeccably tailored suit came to an abrupt stop. A gleaming monocle adorned his right eye, catching a glint of sunlight as his gaze turned skyward. He sighed, his expression a mix of contemplation and satisfaction.

"Killing the Eternal Blazing Sun hasn't dimmed the real sun, just as slaying the Lord of Storms hasn't tamed the tempests of the sea," he mused. "The weather still rages, indifferent to the death of its so-called god. The wheels of progress turn regardless of the fall of the God of Machinery, and the death of the God of Knowledge and Wisdom hasn't erased the wisdom humanity has carved from time. How informative."

Adjusting his monocle, the man nodded to himself, a small smirk playing on his lips as he disappeared into a shadowed side alley. The air shimmered around him, and he reappeared atop a towering building overlooking the vibrant market street below.

His mind continued its introspection. "It's fascinating how these forces existed long before their Apotheosis, unaffected by their demise. Yet their taste… It's no different from their lower sequences. But the power they provide—now that is undeniable. Still, even with the haze clouding my thoughts lifting, there's always a price."

The man massaged his temples, his expression briefly twisting into irritation. "These ravings… There's no cure, it seems. My very existence is a question unto itself. I've been consuming soup made from Beyonder Characteristics across countless pathways for far too long. Sometimes, it's just raw Characteristics, no soup. All of it—every bite, every gulp—is tied to the enigma of my reincarnation. The mystery of how I came to this world… and how I ended up swallowing the uniqueness of the Monster Pathway. The Battle between the Will of the Original Creator and the Miracle of my Transmigration."

The man sighed deeply, his gaze shifting toward a narrow back alley that led to the slums. "It's been nearly a month since Amon fell and Klein ascended as the Lord of Mysteries. He must be waiting for me by now."

He reclined against the edge of the rooftop, his legs swinging lazily over the side. A shadow flickered to his left. He turned, his smirk deepening.

"So, you've come. Took your time, didn't you?"

As his companion settled beside him, he chuckled softly. "Did you get it?" When no response came, he sighed theatrically. "Ah, I see. It's a no, then. You were curious about what I've been thinking? Nothing of importance, really."

His smirk faded as a memory surfaced—his house engulfed in flames for the second time. His fists clenched unconsciously, his voice low as he muttered, "Klein's family… caught in the crossfire of my vengeance against Evernight. They didn't deserve to die like that, though their suffering was merciful compared to hers."

Turning back to his companion, Williams raised a fist. "A fist bump, my friend. You may have failed your mission, but I've had some success."

The skeletal hand of his companion rose, its bones clattering as it met his fist with a dull clink. Williams shook his head, his smirk returning. "Look at you. Thin as a twig. You should eat more, you know. Your complexion's gone from bronze to ghostly pale. Even your Sequence 3 status can't hide how weak you've become. When we first met, you were a proud Sequence 5 of the Death Pathway. Now, you're little more than my Marionette, your flesh burned away in that fire when we fought the Three Musketeers."

He laughed lightly, slapping the skeletal figure on the back, eliciting another cacophony of clattering bones. "Though, I must admit, taking the Red Priest Uniqueness and their Sequence 1 Characteristics was quite the coup."

His demeanor shifted as his gaze returned to the alley below, his expression sharpening with anticipation. "Well, the show should start any moment now."

With a flourish, Williams extended his hand into the Historical Void, retrieving a bucket that resembled those used in 21st-century cinemas. A snap of his fingers filled it to the brim with popcorn. Placing the bucket on his lap, he chuckled softly, murmuring, "Kaboom."

Another snap brought forth two cards, their surfaces gleaming with an otherworldly light. He examined them, holding them up like rare treasures. "The Red Priest Pathway Blasphemy Card," he mused, flipping to the next, "and the Death Pathway Blasphemy Card. A complete set at last. I found this one after sending you on that merry little errand. Though, I'll admit, I regret it now. These ravings are relentless, gnawing at my mind, sanity, and memories. My consciousness is slowly returning, but at what cost?"

Turning to his skeletal companion, he sighed. "What do you think, Darvis?"

He tapped an invisible piano, muttering whimsically, "Avada Kedavra—Abracadabra." At his words, the popcorn bucket transformed, overflowing with Beyonder Characteristics, a few Uniquenesses glinting among them. With a casual gesture, Williams poured in a potion—one crafted long ago by his father, capable of melting Characteristics into a consumable form.

His gaze lingering on the empty vial of potion, reminiscing of the past, the time he spent with the Father and Mother of this body.

Using a spoon seemingly conjured from thin air, he began eating. Finishing the grotesque meal, he turned to his companion once more. "What have I become, eh? Talking to my own Marionette. How far have I fallen. Madness taking route in me, living with fear, hoping and wishing for my Miracle from Transmigration to not end. It's fight against the Will of the Original Creator continuing.

You're free now, my good friend, Marshal. No, Marshadow—that was your name, wasn't it. But before I let you go, I'll take back the Characteristics you've been holding. You've lived rent-free long enough."

Snapping his fingers, he watched as the skeletal figure ignited, reduced to ash in moments. His gaze returned to the alley below, impatience flickering in his eyes. "How long will that fool make me wait?"

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In the dim confines of a slum alley, a roughly dressed man moved with purpose. Infamous in the city's underbelly, he was a shadowy figure synonymous with every vile crime imaginable—kidnapping, robbery, and even murder. Masked and always working alone, he had evaded the authorities at every turn.

His latest prize was a wallet stolen from an opulent-looking man with a monocle. Feeling particularly pleased with himself, he ducked into a deserted alley to inspect his loot. Inside the wallet, he found bundles of cash and a peculiar card that shimmered faintly. Curiosity piqued, he turned it over, reading the name etched on its surface.

"Adam," he said aloud, smirking. "What a loser—"

"Gotch You!", Is all he heard before, A sword descended from the sky, piercing his skull before he could finish. Ending his meaningless life.

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High above, standing in the Giant Hall of the Sefirah Castle, a young man savored a bowl of soup made from the Visionary Pathway's Uniqueness, mixed with a cocktail of other the Lord of the Mysteries Pillar. His gaze shifted toward the distant Outer Gods, a wry smile tugging at his lips.

"Soon," he murmured, the promise hanging in the air like a blade.

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**The End**

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