Charles's expression shifted. "Oh?"
"Yes." Ruth nodded. "Back then, as I vaguely recall, on that Night of the Witches, the Chaos Energy invaded the material world, carving out a fragment of space—a piece that just happened to contain the guillotine that beheaded sixteen kings."
"A massive surge of Chaos Energy settled there, blending with all the stray thoughts bound to that place. That mix eventually led to my birth."
As she described the scene, a nostalgic expression crossed her face. "That's what it was like: I was wrapped in Chaos Energy, my consciousness a blur—I felt oddly at peace, but also paralyzed, unable to move. It's a lot like what just happened here."
"That's why I thought this situation felt so familiar."
Charles's gaze turned serious. There were a lot of details about a witch's origin the game never explained. After all, the game was made for players to date the witches, not dissect them for study… ahem.
So honestly, he knew next to nothing about it.
But, if what Ruth said was true, did that mean a new witch was about to be born here in this space?
But what would become the true body of this new witch?
Glancing at Ruth, then down at his own twin-bladed polearm, Charles mused to himself, "Hey Montport, would you object to gender-swapping into a loyal, super-cute girl for me?"
The Abyssal Lord's baffled voice echoed in his mind: "What in the hell are you talking about?"
"I was just discussing the birth of witches with Ruth," Charles explained. "She thinks this place feels like the environment where she was born. So maybe another witch could form here. But the only thing I can think of as a 'true body' would be my twin-bladed polearm—you, basically."
At that, Montport let out a derisive snort. "Don't be ridiculous! This space has nothing to do with the origin of witches!"
"Witches are magical creatures that come from flaws in the laws of the material world—they're incomplete, flawed, but still born with their own soul."
"But this world? It's barely begun to take shape—it doesn't even have a proper boundary, its Chaos Energy hasn't been processed, it's nowhere near able to create souls or life of any kind. There's no way it could spawn a witch here!"
Charles's expression changed.
A pocket world?
Wait, this isn't some kind of sealing spell, domain, or temporary magical space. This is actually a brand new world? A new universe?
God… No, that's impossible—how could Xanathar possibly have this level of power?
His heart pounded, though his face remained impassive. "So that's it. No wonder I sensed something off before…"
He muttered to himself, gazing farther into the distance, toward the untouched reaches of this place, the areas still un-purified, eyes flickering in thought.
If this was just a domain or a magical cage, he and Ruth could brute-force their way out—hammer at it with spells until they broke free.
But if this was a full-fledged, self-contained world, it wouldn't work. No matter how hard you hammered away, you'd be spinning your wheels inside the system—like running across the earth: as fast as you go, you'll never reach the moon.
There were only three ways out of a world like this.
The first was the safest but most expensive: cast the 7th-level spell Plane Shift, which could teleport you to your home plane or any other you personally knew the coordinates of.
But that was off the table—none of the monastery members, himself included, could cast that spell. Maybe Montport could, but Charles certainly wasn't going to trust him for this.
The second way was Banishment—either the standard 4th-level spell, or 5th-level Banishing Smite. It would send a being from another world back to their home plane. Since both Charles and Ruth were from the material world, this would return them.
Charles didn't know the Banishment spell, but he had Banishing Smite. He'd just have to smack Ruth, then himself, and they'd both get kicked back home.
The trouble was, Banishing Smite deals actual damage!
Unless there really was no other way, he'd rather not hurt Ruth (or himself). That option was a last resort.
That left just one option.
Find this world's master—Xanathar, the beholder!
Capture him, enslave him, and force him to reopen the portal and send them both back!
Resolved, Charles squeezed Ruth's small hand. "Xanathar's not really that powerful. The world he created can't be that big."
"Let's search as thoroughly as we can and catch him. Make him let us out!"
...
Meanwhile, Xanathar was in terrible shape. As a beholder, it was just a somewhat special magical creature—its life rank was even lower than ordinary dragons of the material plane.
On top of that, it wasn't even what you'd call high-level. Not even a legendary monster, really—absolutely out of its depth when it came to handling such vast and volatile Chaos Energy.
The result of seizing such power was that its body and mind were both severely polluted and corrupted.
Its thoughts became wilder, more erratic and grandiose by the minute. Its physical form started to warp: the pupils of its main eye and its eyestalks began to deform—from regular, black, round pupils to snake-like green slits, now subdividing into an array of multi-layered, menacing eyes.
The eyelids of its main eye started to sprout warty, disgusting lumps like a diseased toad. The whole effect was both hideous and repulsive.
Anyone standing nearby would have gagged at the reek—like rotting garbage stewing down in the sewers.
But Xanathar didn't even notice. Arrogance and obsession drowned out everything else. It only felt a rising, burning fury in its heart.
Its mind now held only one idea: Charles—he was the one who'd brought things to this state. He must pay in blood.
"You're going… to die!"
Muttering crazily, an eyestalk twisted under its main eye, swirling the thick, inky Chaos Energy around it—letting its body take on even more corruption, while desperately trying to control the stuff, using it to hunt down its enemies.
But just then, somewhere else in the pocket world, pure white light blossomed in the dark. Chaos Energy around it melted away like snow touched by fire. Even the energies Xanathar had stirred up broke down into separate elements—now totally beyond its control.
The beholder realized it was watching the black void rapidly turn to white—clotted, toxic energy dividing into components it could recognize.
The light and clear elements floated up, forming different supernatural energies.
The heavy and turbid sank, transforming into solid matter.
Wherever those white lights passed, the world began behaving like the material plane, everything divided and ordered, the environment suitable for normal life.
This was what Xanathar had wanted to see. But at a moment like this, it filled the monster with fresh horror and a tinge of dread.
Who was doing this?
It wasn't him—he had tried every method he could think of, but never got anything close to this level of perfection.
Realizing two outsiders had been pulled into this place today, a surge of denial washed over him.
Those two—those two should-have-been-dead intruders—actually had the power to build up his world, to make it habitable for normal life, laying the foundation for his next great leap toward godhood!
Jealousy, thick and ferocious, twisted inside Xanathar's polluted heart.
How is it possible that they can do what I can't?
That guy should only be—what, a tenth-level spellcaster at best? How could he have such talent?
The flames of envy tormented him, but seeing the purified pockets of space—so harmonious, so close to his goal—he could taste how near godhood was.
No! For the sake of that dream, I can't kill him yet...
No matter how he does it, I have to use his power...
That was Xanathar's new thought. With that, it sensed something and looked up.
Amidst the pristine white, it focused with supernatural vision on two approaching figures.
It was Charles—the one who'd hacked off its eyestalks—and Ruth—the one who'd put that deadly wound on its back.
Rage and hatred flashed in Xanathar's eyes, but it quickly masked it, hanging its eyelids to hide every burning thought.
Pretending magnanimity, sure it'd concealed its true feelings, it called out to the pair: "Nigel Charles, will you consider joining forces with me?"
~~~
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