A new space unfurled. Sunny and Mirage, entwined in the mutable currents of raw imagination, became co-creators. He, the architect of histories and desperate triumphs; she, the Daemon-canvas, a shimmering specter hungry for form. Here, in the heart of her domain, reality yielded to whimsy, spun from ephemeral threads of shared thoughts. Their journey began, a descent into myriad worlds, each a vibrant echo of a life lived, a dream deferred. Sunny's imagination, as boundless as Omer's, poured forth its treasures and its terrors.
They plunged into the Wasteland, a world born of a Great Cataclysm that tore his imagined realm asunder. An endless expanse of ash and glass stretched to every horizon, where titanic skeletal behemoths lay entombed in dunes. A searing thirst, a gnawing hunger, terror of treacherous ruins defined these desolate days. Mirage's reflections stretched, mirroring the desolate vastness, hinting at profound, ancient sorrow. This was a long struggle, not an easy passing. Survival came at great personal cost.
Next came the World of Chains, where colossal clockwork golems walked across a perpetually shadowed sky, extracting the very will from those below. He revealed the plight of the Waking World's lowest, forever shackled by unseen tethers, their dreams stolen, their lives dictated by the turning gears of fate. Here, whispers of defiance rose in the ears of the hopeless. Mirage's duplicated visages twisted, grasping a fleeting comprehension of despair.
He conjured a sorrowful labyrinth and revealed the harrowing process of the Nightmare Spell in his own way, how it stripped away self, forcing constant adaptation, endless transformation, or absolute annihilation. He traversed countless deaths, each a brutal shaping into a harder, sharper version of himself. He unveiled the insidious corruption of Entropy, its relentless urge to reduce all things to nothing, to achieve peace through utter dissolution. Mirage's reflections pulsed, absorbing each painful truth. A growing resonance stirred within her.
He built the Crimson Spire, a monument holding both triumph and poignant dread. Here, he laid bare the desperate final stand, the courage of the Dreamer Army, the piercing light of Nephis cleaving through abominations. He recounted the bitter taste of victory, the exorbitant cost, the specter of sacrifice that clung to every soul. The Spire, once a symbol of inevitable doom, shimmered with the combined resolve of mortals, a defiance carved in coral and blood. Mirage's reflections burned, a new, fierce light igniting deep within.
He unveiled the Dark City's Heart, not the ruin it became after the Nameless Sun fell, but the bustling hub of the Awakened, the community he created from the bitter remnants of the shore. Those of the Shadow Clan painted murals of daily struggles, enduring camaraderie, the transient moments of laughter around fires, whispered conversations beneath a starless sky. He placed her amidst the boisterous haggling of his clan, the small ambitions of his academic pursuits, the comforting aroma of a café he dreamed of owning. He conjured the fierce loyalty of his cohort: Effie's boisterous laughter, Kai's serene honesty, the reassuring presence of Rain, the unwavering constancy of his Shadows.
Mirage's reflections began to ripple, no longer mere static frames, but shifting perspectives. These mirrors, once shards of static observation, surged with an internal river, carrying her essence further into the vibrant tempest of Sunny's mind. The fragments of her own memory, long drowned in the quietude of the Palace, stirred from their slumber. She no longer merely absorbed; she felt, a burgeoning tide of sentience reclaiming its ancient shores. Her hunger, once a hollow echo, now found sustenance in the raw, lived emotion woven into each fleeting vista.
However, their many tales did not stop there.
They journeyed to a windswept island, a treacherous odyssey unfurling across treacherous seas. Mirage, now a queen of cunning and resolve, became Odysseus, the clever warrior-king. She endured the Cyclops's wrath, a colossal shadow lunging through the cavernous dark, a brutal lesson in monstrous strength against singular wit. She navigated the Sirens' ethereal song, a melody of yearning and promises that threatened to unravel her very soul, a desperate struggle for autonomy against all-consuming allure. She faced the bewitching Circe, transformed, then broken, learning the insidious poison of enchantment, the subtle art of escape.
The relentless Scylla and the swirling Charybdis, twin furies of the deep, tore at her vessel, forcing an impossible choice, a searing amputation of her own being to ensure survival amidst hunger. She became a stranger in her own home, disguising herself to reclaim what was lost, confronting deceit and disloyalty with equal patience, then unleashing a storm of righteous vengeance upon the unworthy. Each trial, each agonizing decision, etched itself onto her burgeoning consciousness, a tapestry of resilience, a hymn to undaunted spirit.
Sunny, ever the silent companion, the unseen chronicler, walked these paths beside her, bearing witness to her trials, ensuring each triumph resonated with the profound weight of reclaimed selfhood. He savored her emerging joy, witnessed her dawning awareness of profound truths through the lens of another's legend.
Mirage found herself in sun-drenched vales of insurmountable beauty, where crystalline rivers sang through emerald meadows and trees whispered sagas of peace. She saw worlds built for gentle hearts, where sustenance flowed freely, and struggle was but a distant, forgotten refrain. These paradises, so radiant and serene, etched themselves into her reawakening, offering solace, a counterpoint to the relentless tempest of survival. Yet, even in this profound tranquility, a subtle undercurrent of longing persisted, an insatiable yearning for the dramatic, the profoundly felt.
Then, the tableau shifted to realms of consuming terror, where the very air was a shroud of dread and the earth itself groaned under curses of the gods. They walked through endless fields of shadow-wrought steel, where the clash of wars now forgotten echoed in canyons, and the dust of fallen empires hung thick in the very air.
These were domains of primal fear, of lurking abominations and existential dread, where every breath was a desperate gasp for survival, and the cost of complacency was utter annihilation. Mirage felt the searing touch of mortal terror, the cold grip of inevitability, the desperate scramble for a fleeting moment of reprieve. This ceaseless flux of profound triumph and agonizing despair, of shimmering peace and consuming shadow, produced something new within her.
Sunny reveled in the intricate crafting of these countless realities. For him, each fantasy was a tapestry woven from the threads of his own experience, a playful expansion of his struggles and triumphs. He felt the joy of creation, the subtle catharsis of reliving and reimagining his own brutal education. The worlds he shaped were not merely illusions, but echoes of his enduring spirit, tempered by cynicism, sharpened by resilience, and gilded with a subtle humor.
He found himself thoroughly lost, caught in the endless current of vibrant narratives, his own experiences blending with the epic sagas he conjured. Only the subtle warmth of the Mark upon his soul, a gift from the Daemon of Hope, resonated with quiet insistence, a steadfast anchor in the boundless ocean of imagination. This blessing, a shimmering thread of constancy, preserved his core, ensuring his immersion remained a purposeful conduit, not a permanent dissolution. Without it, the seductive comfort of these endless fabricated lives, the exquisite artifice of total control, would have claimed him.
Mirage perceived the boundless wellspring of his experiences, the raw, unvarnished truth of his existence. It was not merely the echoes of Omer's heart she remembered, a vibrant pulse within the vastness of the Dream, but now a profound recognition of a living, breathing perspective. The illusion of contentment, spun from endless repetition, shattered. She recognized the profound tapestry of desires, the unyielding drive that allowed Sunny's spirit to forge such rich, intricate tapestries of living. This was not mere fantasy; these were worlds carved from the bone and blood of profound reality. The long twilight of her oblivion retreated further, banished by the fiery dawn of new understanding.
Through these endless, intertwined existences, across one thousand tales, each lived with the blazing intensity of authentic life, Mirage found her fill. She had tasted the fear, the fury, the love, the loss, the unyielding hope that pulsed at the heart of Sunny's being. The intricate tapestries of imagination, woven from his deep-seated struggles and soaring triumphs, reignited her own latent purpose. She was no longer a silent observer, a distant audience; she was a participant, an architect, a Daemon reborn through the harrowing splendours of a borrowed life.
The Palace, once her serene playground, now felt like a vibrant launching ground, brimming with newly understood potentialities. Her understanding deepened; her very essence resonated with purpose, honed by the furnace of lived narrative. She was not merely remembering, but re-membering herself, piecing together the fractured fragments of her true nature through the raw, vibrant current of Sunny's storied soul.
["I am…"]
She was one of the seven born of the Forgotten God, neither the oldest nor the youngest. She was the one who fashioned form from Nothing, the very architect of reflections, of mirrors, that one might gaze upon oneself. A profound clarity suffused her.
["I am…"]
She was the one swayed by Omer of the Nine, having traversed a thousand tales, delving into each alongside the Fated storyteller. Her essence shimmered, whole and reawakened.
["…I am Mirage, the Demon of Imagination, one of the seven born of the Forgotten God."]
Her vast hunger for wonder found its profound satiation.
In one of the countless worlds, now brilliantly vibrant, she turned to Sunny, her gaze direct, her smile luminous. She had glimpsed — no, she was profoundly aware of his essence, conceived through the thousand worlds he had conjured within her.
Yet, a question lingered, a silken thread of curiosity unwinding in her heart.
["Tell me, Sunny, why have you come to me?"]
—
"Mirage," Sunny said, his voice held a calm register, though a tremor of earnestness underscored his tone. "I require your assistance. My affinity to Nothingness eludes me and I find myself receding, slipping into absolute void if I do not exercise extreme caution."
"You, whose domain is one of boundless thoughts, having created one thousand worlds from sheer Will and never dissipated within them. You, creator of mirrors, reflections crafted to house ephemera. I need your mastery to apply a similar principle to myself, in time." He drew a breath, the profound weight of his entreaty palpable. "Beyond that, indeed, I need your aid with my Nothingness."
Mirage's gaze swept over him, her luminous presence unwavering. She considered his words, her expression serene.
["Nothingness…"] she uttered, her voice a soft current.
["Don't worry, Sunny. I will assist you. Though, your Nothingness seems to be an anomaly. This will prove arduous, even for my capabilities."]
"Arduous? How so?" Sunny inquired, his curiosity piqued.
["Because its provenance traces to a profaned deity, of course."] Mirage imparted.
[ "It is not merely Nothingness, but Nothingness used by a God that had once been a True Being of the Void. Come now, have you not sensed the summons? Not the call of Nightmare, no. For you alone, however, the call of Corruption."]
Mirage floated near, then laid a translucent finger upon his chest. She pressed it lightly on the site of his Seven Rings. A subtle pressure blossomed there, a cold, dark influence, which Sunny recognized in that instant.
["You are… a Spirit. A lesser God, truly, imbued with terrible power, that power within you… it holds a composite nature. A Nephilim appears to have reshaped it, yet the Corruption within that power has not dissipated…"]
["Thus, every time you invoke your Second Aspect, the Call within you will intensify. I am uncertain if you will succumb entirely to Corruption. You can, however, 'lose' yourself to that call."]
She conveyed a graceful motion.
["However, to call this outcome mere madness would not be precise. That is not the effect Corruption wields upon one ascending such as you. You will experience a profound fracturing of thought, yet you will not forfeit your mental faculties. Contrarily, your rational perception will become… perverted, diverging entirely from what you would deem rational or sane."]
["Your mind will forever upon the precipice betwixt divinity and profanity. You will be a Sacred-Titan, yet simultaneously, a Cursed-Titan. You will perpetually inhabit the dark pool of the Void, yet also the incandescent light of the Flame. The Flame of Desire." ]
Sunny absorbed the information. "I hadn't even perceived it…" he uttered, his voice a tremor, scarcely audible.
Though upon thinking about it some more, his tutelage with Nether could explain everything...
The faint whispers, pervasive suggestions, and chilling satisfaction felt when Entropy was overcome... these were not intrinsically his. He had ignored them because he embodied the role of a Sacred. Having traversed the ascent to the penultimate rank, prior to Divine, he enjoyed a rather potent innate resistance to Corruption. He also possessed the [Pure Soul] attribute, assimilated from Slayer. His soul was of immaculate purity. This pristine essence, paradoxically, still dwelled alongside his Corruption. Consequently, his soul itself remained inviolable to the dominion of Corruption. That fundamental core stood immune.
His mind, however, presented a different vulnerability. His thoughts, emotions, selfhood—all could be taken. He recalled sharp flashes of brutal efficiency, dispassionate composure in dire circumstances, an occasional profound apathy. These were perhaps not wholly his. Nevertheless, [Pure Soul] fueled his volition, his honesty, his resolve, enabling him to defy Entropy and continue his odyssey through this Nightmare.
Though, credit was also due the Demon of Hope; absent her benediction, [Pure Soul] alone could not sustain him, not after being killed by Entropy so many times.
And now, having realized it from Mirage, very instance of invoking his Second Aspect involved a perpetual struggle against the Call of Corruption. A harrowing price for tremendous might. Perhaps this constituted an equitable exchange. Multiple profound affinities, balanced by a dire, terrible cost for wielding such power. This was expiation for seizing the power of a Profaned God, usurping the domain of an Unholy-Titan, making it his own.
Divine and Unholy… Corruption and Ascension. He simultaneously trod both paths.
His first Aspect would walk the path of Ascension, but his second Aspect would descend into the Path of Corruption.
Sunny looked up. Resolve cast an unwavering light in his eyes. "Regardless," he stated, his voice reacquiring its steadiness, a dark resonance permeating its depth. "I will not stop wielding my power. If I cannot entirely fall to Corruption, then that assurance is all I need to continue. And so, I will still require your assistance, Mirage."
Mirage observed him with a curious expression. A soft, ethereal chuckle escaped her lips. She extended a hand toward Sunny. Behind her, a mirror shimmered into existence, its reflective surface like undisturbed water.
["I will endeavor to assist you,"] she said, her voice pleasant, her gaze fixed upon the burgeoning mirror. ["This will prove to be a very long process, however. I must warn you that my method of creating reflections from Nothingness… such a method, even similar, will not work here. What had succeeded for me will not avail you. Apologies but… I possess few means to aid your distinct control. Your power truly is…"]
Sunny smirked. He reached out and grasped her spectral hand, feeling the mutable currents of raw imagination. She pulled him into the mirror. The world around them rippled, then dissolved.
"Don't worry about time, Mirage. I have an eternity." his voice echoed, already half-submerged in the shimmering reflection.
Such was the privilege of deity.
—
What is a Fable?
This question, asked of any discerning individual within the Dream Realm, elicited a singular, unwavering response. At its fundamental core, a Fable signified a story. It narrated the journey of something, a persona, or an impactful event. Stories. Narratives. Fables. They converged, inextricably linked. Yet, in this realm of dreams, a deeper inquiry would surface: why are "Fables" rarely mentioned, if at all? If they held intrinsic existence, why were their names rarely uttered?
The answer lay in their perceived utility. Everyone possessed Fables. Acquired from a First Nightmare, a Second, or even a Third. Whether attained through a momentous achievement — perhaps toppling a Saint while a mere Master — the specifics held little sway. Fables possessed no functional purpose for typical Awakened. Indeed, they held scant relevance even for the Gods.
Every God and Daemon, including the Cursed and Unholy Gods, possessed a grand-fable. A profound narrative chronicling their existence, their accomplishments, and the evolution into their present state. In this world of Dreams, an individual was, quite literally, composed of their stories. One's inherent strength derived from the accumulated narratives; these narratives, in turn, were intrinsically linked to one's deeds and triumphs. Even mastering a transcendent battle art constituted a story. A story was the mechanism by which the world itself perceived and acknowledged one's essence and being.
Despite this, why harbor such focus on Fables if their practical applications were deemed so sparse? The explanation would reveal a single Divine being. One God, distinct from all others, had truly subjected Fables to a rigorous test. His appellation? Said to be irrevocably lost, sunken into oblivion. No, not "said," for no sentient being ever invoked his name. He arose from utter non-existence. He possessed no identity. He was a void.
Yet, he was more.
He was the Daemon of Possibility. He was the Lost from Light from the 0th round of regression. He was an Outer God. He authored this Nightmare. He alone, in history, a figure erased from collective memory, dared to confront the Forgotten God, and wounded that God. He was the solitary challenger of the seventh Nightmare. Consequently, the very architecture of this Nightmare implied his success; he had not only confronted the Forgotten God, the God of Corruption, but he had also escaped that Nightmare, enduring.
He was the Original Sunless. He Weaved the essence of Regression.
Hence, Sunny found himself with Mirage. He required a means to traverse outside this Nightmare, to return to his own world. That alone permitted him to conclude this Nightmare, receive his appraisal, and retain every acquisition gained within it.
Sunny's voracious avarice was boundless. All the attributes he had amassed. Every Sacred memory he had weaved thus far, across his journey of this Nightmare. Everything, save for his Second Aspect, would be forfeited.
Not content with such a loss, Sunny sought to claim all. He would acquire all. Yet, how did one transmute themselves into a Fable? An individual could not simply depart the confines of the world — nearly disengaging from existence itself — and remain whole.
He had been forewarned by Ariel, the Demon of Dread. To navigate the Labyrinth of Worldlines necessitated the dissolution of one's soul and spirit. Passing through, either physically or spiritually, was deemed impossible. Through Mirage, however, an avenue might just be made.
After all, did she not forge reflections from Nothingness? Such a feat commanded the manipulation and entrapment of a Fable. Indeed. Mirage possessed that very understanding. She knew how to transform oneself into a Fable.
Thus, beyond the personal challenge of Sunny's own Nothingness, this was his ultimate goal. Mirage stood as one of the most pivotal Daemons he would encounter. He had to transmute his Soul and Spirit into Nothing, subsequently transforming whatever remained into a Fable. This Fable, in turn, would traverse to his own world, finalize this Nightmare, and reconstitute within his Sleeper body. In essence…
Sunny harbored no intent of conventionally completing this Nightmare. This course diverted from the original architect's ultimate desire.
Contemplating the architect's legacy revealed the disparity. The original possessed both [Shadow Slave] and [Light Bringer], wielding both Soul and Shadow essence. His rank must have been Divine upon confronting the Forgotten God. He did not prevail, however, else this Nightmare would not persist.
But perhaps…
This current Sunny, possessing four affinities where the original had two, traversing both paths of ascension and corruption, commanding a power beyond the Daemon of Possibility's own, and having the blessings of multiple Daemons and Gods. Would he, armed with future knowledge and powers transcending a Divine's potential, reach the end?
An answer eluded him. Sunny, nonetheless, would attempt it.
—
Sunny, with the mists of Nothingness now swirling about his hand, once again attempted to apply its elusive properties upon himself. An odd sensation accompanied his efforts. Unlike his time in the Underworld, where the passage was time was still decipherable, the passage of existence within Mirage's boundless domain of imagination proved too twisted. Their constant traversal through myriad worlds, each offering a distinct manipulation of an environment, always benefited Sunny by providing whatever he sought.
Despite these manipulations, uncertainty gnawed at him.
"Mirage. Are you sure this is possible?" Sunny questioned, his tone having genuine doubt.
How, he mused, did one transmute themselves into a Fable, simultaneously allowing everything else to dissipate into nothingness? Over time, Sunny's mastery over his personal affinity to Nothingness had expanded. Mirage had proven immensely helpful in this expansion. Yet, his capacity to control Nothingness itself held less consequence than wielding that Nothingness against his own existence.
One objective neared completion: Sunny's ability to manipulate Nothingness. His second objective, to succumb to that same Nothingness while extricating his Fable, remained elusive.
Mirage gave him a calm answer.
["It is possible. As I have informed you, separating one's self from their encompassing story proves exceptionally arduous."]
Mirage's expression, too, exhibited uncertainty. ["I possess the ability to ensnare narratives, yet I cannot cleave them from an individual such as yourself."]
Sunny fell onto his butt, depleted of stamina. His current application, endeavor to erase a facet of himself with Nothingness, expended significantly more vitality than manipulating the torrents of life within True Darkness.
He lay supine, afloat on a grand lake of fragmented reflections, gazing at the pristine blue firmament above.
'Dammit, Original, why must everything we do appear so near impossible?!'
His endeavors thus far, to be fair, might equally be deemed near impossible. He had, however, made progress. Here, making little progression, his frustration mounted.
Suddenly, he sensed Mirage's presence beside him. She settled gracefully upon the rippling water, her form a vision of serene contemplation.
She too observed the blue expanse above. Sunny pondered her inner thoughts. Perhaps, he mused, she recalled the myriad worlds they had journeyed through, the thousand tales he had conjured. He had indeed found pleasure in those creations, whether splendid or harrowing.
Mirage spoke next, her words startling enough to almost bring him upright.
["Sunny, it may help you to attempt communication with your stories."]
…
"What?" Sunny slowly straightened. "What are you talking about?"
Mirage regarded him with calm composure, a finger poised upon her chin. ["I suggest you endeavor to converse with your Fables."]
Sunny tilted his head slightly. He possessed no concept of how to initiate such an interaction.
Mirage spoke again. ["You possess many Fables, after all. This stands to reason, given the numerous regressions you endured to fell that God. Your unique ability to regress has, undoubtedly, enabled you to accumulate such a multitude of Fables."]
A subtle tremor of apprehension crossed Mirage's features as she observed him. ["Nonetheless,"] she continued, ["as a God, one's stories are readily accessible. Yet for you, an anomaly, this may prove challenging."]
["Ponder upon it. Attempt it."]
With that, Mirage departed, leaving him in solitary thought.
'Speak to my Story…'
That directive felt akin to commanding him to converse with his inherent existence. How could he possibly accomplish such a feat?
He assumed a meditative posture, closed his eyes, and delved deeper into contemplation. Utter cluelessness enveloped him.
Could he use [Dreamwalker] upon himself, traversing the expanse of his own memories? By this point, Sunny could compel himself to dream of past events. He could, mirroring Mirage's Imagination, simply manifest any dream he desired. One might call it an exceptionally advanced form of lucid dreaming, given his dedicated attribute.
That approach, however, felt incorrect.
'Just what could it be…?'
Perhaps, he considered, he needed to evoke his concealed powers? Fables represented a being's chronicle, and chronicles were the language through which the Dream Realm perceived existence.
This too felt like an inadequate solution.
Sunny sighed. He recommenced practicing his applications of Nothingness. He could already mimic an action akin to 'Abjuration' by wielding it. Beyond that, his proficiency in calling forth his affinity still lacked sufficient adeptness.
By the Gods, he would necessitate such mastery. Mirage's tutelage would conclude. He would then need to meet Repose. If Ariel's and Nether's words held truth, that confrontation would prove hellish.
As the days elapsed, Sunny's thoughts converged on a singular inquiry: How did one communicate with their Fable? At what juncture did one attain the closest proximity to their story? What sensation would such an encounter evoke? What form did the 'Story' itself embody?
After an unquantifiable span, Sunny found his answer. The revelation struck him.
It occurred during one of his numerous discussions with Mirage. He practiced unleashing 'Nothing,' his thoughts simultaneously focused and drifting. By virtue of being both a Sacred and possessing [Mind Weave], he could achieve such a state of concentrated diffusion.
["Sunny… if you do not object. Could you enlighten me regarding it?"]
Sunny, having just released a rippling mist of Nothingness, interspersed with shimmering glass fragments and fine sand, ceased his efforts. He turned toward Mirage, slightly confused.
"'It'?"
Mirage made a gesture, signaling her intent.
["Your… your faculty for calling upon others."]
'Call upon others? As I converse with her?'
"Are you referring to my ability to traverse Dreams?" Sunny inquired.
Mirage shook her head.
'No?'
Mirage sighed.
["You… you performed it during your confrontation with Entropy. You asserted that, alongside Sun God and Shadow God, you brought it down. How did you achieve that? What sensation accompanied embodying two gods simultaneously? Explain it, please. I am intensely curious."]
'How did it feel, you ask? It was profoundly dreadful.'
Sunny shivered at the mere recollection.
"It was excruciating. And, also not. When Izanami descended into my seventh Avatar, the sensation was both compassionately wonderful and dreadful. It feels sickening to explain, yet it was almost like rejoining my… 'Master.' It felt akin to returning home."
Mirage hummed. ["Regardless, were you overwhelmed by him?"] she asked.
"How could I not be?" Sunny affirmed. "An existence transcending Divine. I could barely contain its force. Yet, I did. My accumulated regressions alone preserved me; the presence of you true gods could not obliterate me."
"Surya, however… was far more harrowing for me. His nature as the Lord of Light must have been the cause. His Light and Fire did strengthen both Izanami and myself with power, yet his thoughts… his rage… his longing… it was near insurmountable. My very being began to break only after invoking him."
Sunny chuckled, a hollow sound. "It surprises me that the battle was so brief in my last regression. It felt like eternity, yet transpired in an instant. Our movements possessed such velocity, our will such tyranny, that an extended battle would have been impossible."
"In that moment. I sensed both Izanami and Surya. I could perceive… "
At that moment, Mirage's eyes widened significantly.
["Story!"]
"Huh?" Sunny blinked.
Mirage repeated herself, gesturing at him. ["You came to comprehend their Story!"]
Sunny remained silent, contemplative.
He pondered: what, precisely, had the Spell proclaimed upon Surya's descent into his body? He might have missed it when Izanami descended, being near death. With Surya, however, he had experienced complete consciousness.
"What… what was it…"
'Come on, Sunless, think!'
It was—
[The Spirit Origin 'Sun God' has become known.]
[The Sorcery 'Divine Miracle' has become known.]
[The Power 'Heavenly Flame' has become known.]
Surya's Spirit Origin, Sorcery, and Power. These defined his essence. These constituted his complete existence.
And thus, these were his Story.
Everything, from his Spirit Origin to his Power, formed part of his Grand-Fable. All of them were Fables.
And all of them were Fables Sunny had directly been in contact with.
But how? Sunny had no comprehension of how to engage his own Fable. Yet, in that battle, he must have spoken to both Shadow God's and Sun God's.
"I did… I perceived their entire Story." Sunny's voice was uncertain. "
But… how could this help him perceive his own? After all, Sunny couldn't call upon himself—
Sunny's eyes widened in sudden revelation.
"Mirage… stand back."
Mirage tilted her head. ["Why?"]
Sunny smirked at her. "This may grow tumultuous but… I've figured it out."
Mirage smiled.
He repeated the declaration aloud. "I've figured out how to speak to my Fable."
The answer emerged, startling in its simplicity.
It was [Echo of the Stars].
Sunny intended to use it on himself.
How? The method proved quite simple.
[Echo of the Stars]'s description read: [You carry within you an impossible longing. Through it, you may forge a temporary Contract of Desire with any willing spirit, drawing upon their power for a time.]
This attribute materialized the moment he challenged the Nightmare. It possessed a clear origin: its creator, the Original Sunless of the 0th Round. Therefore, the moment Sunny initiated his challenge of the Nightmare, he already possessed this attribute, having assumed the mantle of his Supreme self.
If [Regressor] could unleash multiple conceptual Spirit Origins, each ablaze when Entropy sought to consume him, then he could readily invoke a past iteration of himself. Why could he not manipulate his past self?
The Spirit Origin he would invoke existed conceptually. Technically, it did not. Yet, it did.
It resided within him. All were.
And so—
Sunny inhaled deeply, closed his eyes, and stood tall. Instead of looking toward the heavens, he directed his gaze inward.
A moment later, the Spell spoke.
[The Attribute 'Echo of the Stars' has been activated.]
At that instant, the pristine blue expanse within Mirage's imagination transformed into a tapestry of countless Stars. These were not celestial bodies, however, but the visible network of the Nightmare Spell itself, forcibly revealed by [Echo of the Stars].
Not a single one of those innumerable Stars descended upon Sunny. He himself began to emanate light.
The Spell began to speak once again.
[In the flow of the stars, the gods within the Nightmare may hear your voice.]
[Speak the True Name of the God you wish to…]
[…!]
[You have paid the Cost of Desire!]
[…!]
[There is no Cost of Desire.]
Sunny smiled. "There you are."
[The Sacred-Titan 'Lost from Light' is looking at you.]
It was the Lost from Light from his last turn. The 1863rd Regression.
[The Sacred-Titan 'Lost from Light' is...!]
Sunny ignited. A newborn black star. His world faded away.
—
When his eyes opened to an abyss that offered no purchase for recognition, Sunny understood that he wandered alone within a darkness unlike any other.
The last coherent fragment clinging to memory was the act of calling upon himself, and something had shifted at the moment of connection.
[Your Spirit Origin is in an unknown condition!]
What?
But he possessed no luxury to dwell upon the Spell's sterile pronouncement. The next sound that reached him stole the breath from his lungs.
"Stop… make it stop."
'My voice?'
It was his.
Fragmented recollections drifted through the haze of his semi-consciousness. Not as coherent sound but as something closer to letters imprinting themselves upon the darkness. Sunny recognized their nature with a clarity that cut through the fog of disorientation.
'I've… I've done it.'
The shadows enveloping him were just that. Shadows.
And the letters swimming within their depths were—
[Giant Story, 'Hell of Eternity', is currently in an illegible state.]
His Fable. Laid bare before him.
Naturally their current state was illegible. After all, it was a Grand-Fable that had not even been completed. It had not been completed yet because he was still within this Nightmare. His Eternity was still ongoing. Not only that, but by using [Echo of the Stars] to call upon the Desire of his past regression, he had taken a step backward, not forward into the next regression. It seemed the Nightmare Spell did not know what to do with that. Not at all.
But it was no matter. The important thing was that now he could directly see it.
It was a harrowing archive. Surrounded by the substance of his own nature, the shadows that had served as both weapon and home across eighteen hundred sixty-three cycles of hell and despair. He could read it all.
He could 'read' every single regression here. All of his battles against Entropy. All of Nephis's deaths. Every single time the King of Nothing was finally reduced to Nothing.
The 1st Regression. The 2nd Regression. The 3rd Regression.
The 70th. The 230th. The 753rd.
The 999th. The 1403rd. The 1702nd. The 1802nd.
The 1834th. The 1860th.
The 1862nd. And now the one he called upon just to reach this state of existence.
The 1863rd.
These sentences kept brushing past his eyes. In one moment, even, Sunny saw something odd.
He saw himself performing an action he had not before. Just what was that Story?
He could not dwell on it much. But it was strange. That one single Story, he could not help but ask:
'Is that really me?'
The individual in that Story had a description of white short hair, a tall figure, drowned in a cloak of white. His eyes held two black voids, both holding the golden light of divinity within their centers. But that was not all.
His Soul was… utterly massive. Truly, it was too much to behold, even for Sunny who had peered into the existence of both Surya and Izanami. It was too great. It was like looking upon a universe. If the gods were isolated worlds, this one was many times greater.
He forced himself to shut his eyes away as he noticed a sentence coming far too close to something only described as the -unknown-.
He realized what that story was.
It was the original's. It was the moment when that Sunless was going to confront the Forgotten God. He would not survive seeing such a thing, even if he was in a constant state of fighting Corruption.
That must have been when he was still Divine. He could not have been an Outer God in that moment.
Regardless. Sunny had to hurry up. It was becoming apparent.
Looking upon his body, he began to notice letters exiting them slowly. It was similar to how the Shadow Realm would turn anything and everything into pure essence. However, what was leaving him was not essence, but instead his own stories. In this state of invalidation, and by using the [Echo of the Stars] which drew power, desire, and fables directly from the Nightmare Spell, the Nightmare Spell had complete dominion over him.
And so, it was trying to correct this error. It was trying to erase him from existence.
He resisted being turned into pure fables, as this was not the method he wanted. Naturally, he would have to become nothing but a Fable before this Nightmare was over, but this was not the way.
And so he read some more. And finally, he understood himself.
He read of the time when he nearly gave into Entropy's call.
[You have come to know the Fable 'Paradise of Despair.']
"Why is there… absolutely nothing… behind me now?"
Some part of him had surrendered, long before becoming a Sacred through a means impossible outside this Nightmare. In this way, he was still human at the time. And humans could easily know despair.
He read of the time when he truly realized that regardless of his actions, there would be no other voice to hear. No other hands to hold. No other life to dwell with. His world was dead. Humanity was gone. He was the last child of War.
[You have come to know the Fable 'King of a Kingless World.']
["If this is not the end… then I will keep walking… until I witness… the end of this journey…"]
["Won't you walk it with me…? You wretched God."]
And it was in that moment, in that regression, that he devoured his own Shadows, and the conceptual shadows from the regressions long past, and became a Spirit.
He read of the time when he managed to give a wound to Entropy. Having finally done even a fickle of damage, without any help from any other God. It was his power, and his power alone, that left a wound on the Profaned God. Even if it was minor. A mere Sacred-Titan had wounded an Unholy-Titan.
[You have come to know the Fable 'He who faced a God.']
["One day… I will show you my wrath."]
The memory of Sunny's voice in that moment when he wounded Entropy was one of indignation.
He read of the time, far before becoming a Sacred, when he watched Nephis take her last breath. Of course, he had seen it, over and over again. And of course, it was one of the many times when he received [Light Bringer], and [Shadow Bond] had fulfilled a hidden purpose.
[You have come to know the Fable 'Wish of Kindling.']
In this Fable, it was Nephis speaking, and not him.
"You will… never be… a Slave to anything… ever… again."
Nephis smiled as she passed. Her flames doing nearly nothing to stall Entropy's Will.
There were many more Sunny read. In this act, he had finally been able to understand himself.
He had read nearly every Fable. And in doing so, he had learned how to read his Fables without having to take a step back.
He had begun to understand his story. He witnessed this story, and in turn was witnessed by it.
[You have come to know the Fable…]
[You have come to know the Fable…]
[You have come to know the Fable…]
[You have come to know the Fable…]
[You have come to know the Fable…]
[You have come to know the Fable…]
[You have come to know the Fable…]
[You have come to know the Fable…]
[You have come to know the Fable…]
[You have come to know the Fable…]
[You have come to know the Fable…]
Truly, there were many. Of course there were, how could there not be?
And suddenly, he was no longer just in the Shadows. But instead, there were new presences as well.
Around him, there was a great mist. This mist was nothing. It had no name to call, no voice to speak, no will to impede. It was Nothingness. It was his manifestation of the affinity.
Below him, in the shadows, was something nearly cutting it off entirely. It was rich with life, flourishing in abundance as the torrents flowed about, creating beautiful patterns. It was True Darkness. The Blood of a Void Being. An affinity he had come to be familiar with through Nether's tutelage.
And finally, the affinity he had received from Nephis. The very core of his Second Aspect.
[Light Bringer]
Suddenly, a pair of arms wrapped around him from behind. It was a familiar scent, and an oh so familiar feeling. It was a familiar longing. The arms were made out of Light, for they were light. They were the Light banished and doomed to dwell in the Darkness. The manifestation of the affinity for his 'Light' had taken a nearly identical appearance to Nephis herself, because that affinity had known Nephis for far too long. It had no other appearance to take.
Sunny laid back into the arms of this Light and began to feel the boundless world of Fables begin to subside. He was leaving, leaving before he became nothing but a Fable himself.
He had achieved his purpose. He could read his Fables now.
[You have come to know the Giant Story, 'Lonely Pilgrim of Destruction.']
This was one of Sunny's grand fables. Under normal circumstances, most Gods had four or five Grand Fables at most. The Seven Gods would have a Grand-Fable from the concepts they created. And an even greater one having fought against the Void. The Daemons, in similitude, would have Grand-Fables. Hope, for example, from creating the concept of writing. And Mirage, having created the concept of reflections. And Sunny had joined their ranks in terms of Fables. He had not two, but instead three Grand-Fables.
One was the Giant Story 'Hell of Eternity,' which was not yet concluded.
The other was 'Lonely Pilgrim of Destruction,' which was born of the eighteen hundred regressions he went through.
But this last one belonged to the Original.
He could barely even read it. It was a Fable far greater than even that of the Gods themselves. It was the impossible story of one who had reached their conclusion. And this Nightmare, in turn, was the Original's wish for Sunny to find another conclusion.
It was quite simple. The Original's Conclusion must have been something like 'Eternity.'
And Sunny needed to end this Eternity.
And so he smiled and fell back further and further, as the Light held her arms around him. He smiled even more as tears fell from his eyes.
Having now understood his Fables, every single part of his body was operating at a near-perfection. The stories he had compelled so far were permeating within every fibre of his being. In this very moment, Sunny felt as if he was reborn.
For indeed. This was the true power he possessed, the Status of a being within a Nightmare, already having reached their conclusion and witnessed the 'End' by himself alone. And yet now, it was also the status of a being who wished to undo that 'End,' utterly unsatisfied by it.
Truly.
Lost from Light's treachery knew no bounds.
—
Outside of Sunny's perspective, still standing on the rippling lake, Mirage observed as the tornado of darkness began to ease. The moment Sunny employed [Echo of the Stars] and invoked his past self, he concurrently began to 'read' the fables of that self. Just as he had with Izanami and Surya, by encountering their fables upon their invocation, he now read his own.
Mirage smiled as the shadows completely receded. In his exact previous location, Sunny stood upright, head inclined, eyes closed. Slowly, they opened. The moment they did, Mirage shivered. Undeniably, Sunny had transformed.
His mere presence had magnified. His power surged, reaching a newfound capacity. If previously it was a tsunami, now it was a deluge capable of inundating the world. It appeared anomalous for a being to augment their strength with mere Fables, yet Sunny achieved precisely that.
By discerning and truly comprehending himself, his physique, and his Fable, he had begun to… narrate their story. This power, however, could not be replicated by anyone else. No other being possessed the faculty to invoke a Fable in his specific manner. No other being could directly summon the Nightmare Spell.
This was, indeed, the power of an Outer God, as attested by its creator.
The very sky, in his awakening, transmuted into a Void of Darkness and Shadows, physically eclipsing the stars. For Mirage, this specter of death dominated her sight. Her Dream had reshaped itself to his Story.
A moment later, the vision vanished. Sunny descended to his knees. Mirage caught him before he reached the ground.
["…I take it that you've spoken to your Story?"]
Sunny's breath came in ragged gulps. He found respiration difficult, instantly comprehending the cause.
"I—I…"
He had to deactivate [Echo of the Stars].
He complied a moment later. Finally, he could breathe, and answer Mirage, the pain of his flaw intensifying.
"I… I-I did!"
Mirage carefully helped him rise. Sunny placed one hand to his temple, the other to his chest. However, he showed no discernible pain. Instead, excitement illuminated his features. He had realized his objective.
Having received Mirage's aid, practically instructed how to master his Nothingness without succumbing to it, and now having acquired the ability to discern his own Story, his period with Mirage was functionally completed.
Still, he possessed no recourse but to seek Repose…
While Mirage had educated him on how to 'trap' and 'contain' one's Story—utilizing Nothingness to erase or diminish one's being, leaving the Story behind and encapsulating its essence—Repose remained the sole God capable of instructing him on how to transform it. For even if he transmuted into nothing but a Fable forthwith, how would that Fable comprehend movement, sensation, and independent existence?
How would this Fable 'Change'?
Indeed. Rime, the Daemon of Repose, possessed the ability to institute balance and change, having created the very concept. She could impart how to transform his Fable, allowing it to traverse the Labyrinth of Worldlines and depart not only this Conceptual Worldline, but the Nightmare itself. He could alter his Fable and retain most of its accrued power. His rank and existence as a Spirit, certainly not. But his attributes, all his Sacred Memories, even contents within his Soul Sea, and his Shadows also.
That necessity drove him to Repose. She constituted the last recourse for completing this Nightmare on his own terms, preserving his advancements and all acquisitions.
After all, had Abaddon not explicitly instructed him, and by extension the Original, to encounter all seven Daemons? The irony amused him. Completing the Nightmare by this unconventional means meant… simply departing it. A natural conclusion would never manifest. It was never intended to.
Sunny permitted himself a brief chuckle. What reaction, he wondered, would the Spell exhibit once compelled to conclude this Nightmare? How would it respond to an unprecedented influx of Memories and Attributes into a single Sleeper Sunless? If the Spell possessed emotions, it would undoubtedly lose all composure.
A thought, however, pricked him.
'Am I forgetting something?'
He felt a vague unease that traversing the Labyrinth of Worldlines and returning to his original world carried an unforeseen consequence. It would resemble exiting a Nightmare Seed, with the crucial difference of his ingress and egress occurring at disparate points. The Nightmare Seed for this '???', or rather, 'Hell of Eternity', was Weaver's Mask. One might logically assume his Fables would also egress from Weaver's Mask.
…Sunny sensed this might not be the actual outcome. Yet, it offered his only exit. All that remained was hope.
["Well then… you should be off then. Also—"]
Mirage suddenly raised Sunny's arms.
'…WHAT THE FUC—!'
Where his "arm" should have been, starlight fractured. His skin had transmuted into mists of nothingness, slowly dissipating, and the 'Starlight,' in fact not starlight but the letters of his Fable, seeped out.
["I suggest you retain your Fables intact, young man."]
Sunny tore his arm from Mirage's grasp and cradled it with his other hand. He had to exert his Will to compel his Fable to reconstitute. Though, that alone proved insufficient.
It demanded forty minutes of intense focus. He employed [Mind Weave] to its utmost, re-reading the sections that had nearly drifted away. Through his immense effort, his Fable reconstructed itself. Indeed, he had unconsciously attempted precisely what Mirage had striven to teach him: to erase himself, leaving only his Fable behind.
"…Damnation. What a piece of work."
It was only when Sunny felt confident in wielding Nothingness that he truly began to appreciate the profound potential inherent in possessing four affinities. The possibilities stretched boundlessly. A formless Shadow. A destructive Light of both blessing and ruin. A Darkness rich with vibrant life. And now, the ephemeral mists of Nothingness. Formlessness, restoration and destruction, obscuration and alien life, nihility and abjuration—a complete sphere of power. With his Fables actively manifesting, he felt more profoundly attuned to his own being than ever before.
His departure loomed. It was time to offer his farewell to Mirage.
Turning toward her, a somber expression clouding his features, he observed her once more. Her hair, white and pale, cascaded past her shoulders. Her raiment, surprisingly, consisted of Memories Sunny himself had conceived and woven at her bidding. She possessed both beauty and a harrowing aspect; she was angelic and monstrous. Her eyes… were beautiful, yet uncannily resembled those of the deceased Supreme Mordret, King of Nothing. Her gaze reflected the world upon itself. Having spent time in her company, he now held a new appreciation for them.
Mirage regarded him with a kind, bright smile, then suddenly embraced him, causing him to freeze.
["This is… this is what humans do when they bid each other farewell, is it not?"]
'Oh.'
It made sense. Sunny felt foolish realizing a subtle sadness touched him. He had grown fond of nearly every Daemon he had met, with the notable exception of Ariel. His encounter with Ariel, of course, had been brief and straight to the point.
Hope had become a friend he would never forget, imparting writing skills superior to any other being in this world. She possessed kindness, yet remained a Daemon, transcending humanity. His relationship with Nether could be described as that of teacher and student, perhaps even two scientists delving into convergent subjects.
And now, with Mirage… if he were to characterize their bond, it was… playful. Mirage exuded a child-like spirit, despite not being the youngest Daemon. Perhaps her boundless imagination enabled such a a thing.
Mirage was… fun. She was fun.
Slowly, Sunny returned her embrace. "Yes. This is how humans bid each other farewell."
Mirage nodded, her smile radiant, before she disengaged.
["Sunny… I hope you had fun."]
Sunny's smile was bright. "I… did. I truly did."
How could he not? He had been compelled to restrain himself from manifesting certain worlds within Mirage's domain, lest he fulfill all his desires. If he had, what remained for him to return to that he hadn't already experienced? Such an existence would prove monotonous. Consequently, he had refrained.
"Well then," Sunny said, a genuine warmth in his voice. "Goodbye, Mirage."
He offered a final wave. Mirage energetically returned the gesture, her form shimmering brightly. The Dream around him began to dissipate as Sunny deactivated [Dreamwalker].
And just like that, he faded away from The Inner-Dream of Imagination.
His time with Mirage was up.
…And the Demon of Repose awaited him.