Chapter 233: Boothill: Crying Out Love at the Center of the World
Sunday felt a mild sense of helplessness as his consciousness was abruptly yanked into the colossal divine body. Still, the underlying logic of the situation was sound. Rekka, despite his absurd capabilities, had absolutely no idea how to actually wield the power of Order. He needed Sunday to provide hands-on, on-site instruction.
Regardless, the former head of the Oak Family no longer harbored any lingering attachments to the power of an Aeon. Guiding Rekka through the cosmic mechanics was merely a matter of convenience.
However, the moment Sunday temporarily assumed control over the remnants of Order, a startling realization washed over him. His mastery over the Path had actually deepened.
Rekka's previous words echoed in his mind. Humans should use human strength to solve human problems.
Perhaps it was a stroke of subtle, cosmic irony. Now that Sunday had finally relinquished his suffocating grip on his ideals, his control over the power of Order flowed far more naturally than it ever did during the absolute peak of his obsession.
The intertwined consciousness of the two men gradually withdrew from the dizzying, macroscopic coordinates of the universe, descending back toward the mortal plane.
"Alright, Old Sun, tell me," Rekka's voice echoed through their shared mental link, casual and entirely unbothered by the cosmic scale of their current vessel. "What do you think is going to happen to Penacony now?"
Truth be told, the current reputation of Order across the cosmos wasn't exactly stellar. Although the colossal manifestation of Order had indeed traded catastrophic blows with the forces of Destruction, the Interstellar Peace Corporation's propaganda machine had already spun the narrative. According to the IPC broadcasts, it was simply two terrifying boss-level entities waging a divine war, while the benevolent Amber Lord graciously shielded the innocent masses from the fallout.
The Corporation's public relations department truly deserved a raise.
After all, Xipe the Harmony hadn't made a direct appearance, and the local ruling Families of Penacony were entirely powerless to dictate the narrative.
But the sudden, obvious reappearance of Order threw a massive wrench into the established lore of the universe.
Why was the supposedly deceased Aeon of Order suddenly doing cosmic sit-ups?
There was a universal truth among scholars. A state far more terrifying than an active Aeon, or even a fallen Aeon, was an Aeon that refused to stay dead. At least the general populace possessed some basic understanding of the currently existing Aeons. But an entity that repeatedly died and sprang back to life? That crossed the line from divine into downright eerie.
Literally dying and coming back. Over and over.
This meant that Ena, a veteran Aeon from ancient eras, would likely be redefined in the galactic archives as the supreme entity of sheer stubbornness. An Aeon scaring the entire universe to tears simply by flexing its super-seniority.
"How do we... how exactly do we wrap this up?" Rekka asked, his tone shifting to a rare moment of uncertainty. "We can't just keep hanging over the star system like a giant, glowing chandelier."
"Let me think," Sunday murmured. For a brief moment, even the careful former mastermind found himself at a loss. "You should be an expert at this kind of theatrical deception. I heard from Stelle that you orchestrated a grand scheme on the Xianzhou Luofu, quite similar to the chaos you unleashed upon Penacony. Back then, you didn't even use the power of an Emanator, nor were you masquerading as an Aeon, yet you still managed to fool almost every major faction involved."
Thinking back on those absurd reports, Sunday seriously began to wonder if Rekka's true, hidden identity was actually Mythus. The Aeon of Enigmata.
Mythus was an entity of pure, unadulterated mystery. Whenever other Aeons manifested their divine authority, they left obvious proof of their existence. But Mythus? Mythus just remained abstractly mysterious. Would the grand finale of the universe just feature Mythus being incredibly vague? It was a maddening thought.
"I'm not exactly operating at peak performance today," Rekka replied after a prolonged, somewhat awkward silence. "If you want me to just pull a flawless, galaxy-fooling narrative out of thin air right this second, it is a bit beyond my current processing capacity."
"Then we rely on the simplest, most fundamental rules of misdirection," Sunday instructed, his tone shifting back into the calm, authoritative cadence of a seasoned leader. "Dealing with a compromised identity requires three distinct steps. Denial, diversion, and explanation."
"Deny what, exactly?"
"Deny that you are Rekka. When the divine body of Order manifests so blatantly over Asdana, every single faction will immediately assume it is my doing. Let them keep thinking that. You only need to adopt the grand, imposing stance of the Aeon of Order. Broadcast the impression that Ena's afterglow hasn't entirely faded from the cosmos, and that this sudden surge of power is merely a residual echo. When Ena fell the second time, those echoes continued to connect throughout the star systems that were once under His protection. Asdana just happens to be the most concentrated sector."
"So, you mean...?"
"Use Asdana as the epicenter," Sunday explained, visualizing the galactic map. "Project faint, lingering echoes of Order into the surrounding star sectors as well. Make it appear as though Ena's historical influence is simply experiencing a delayed, localized collapse. You don't even need to provide a concrete answer. The Interstellar Peace Corporation's observation units will gladly do the heavy lifting for you. Scholars and researchers are always far better at convincing themselves of a complex lie than politicians ever could be."
"Old Sun," Rekka chuckled, genuinely impressed. "You really have a terrifying talent for writing fiction."
"It is merely a necessary skill I acquired while managing the Oak Family," Sunday replied dryly.
Following the plan, the majestic, overwhelming power of Order rippled outward from Asdana, washing over the adjacent star sectors like a silent, invisible tide. The suffocating Dream of Order did not actually descend upon the populace, but every single living being, regardless of their race, faction allegiance, or personal strength, suddenly felt an indescribable, deep sense of peace wash over their souls at that exact moment.
"...Brother?"
Far below, Robin felt that familiar resonance. She stood completely still, her gaze fixed upward at the illusory, towering divine form of Order projected against the cosmos.
The colossal entity floating above Asdana right now radiated an aura she knew intimately. It was her brother's signature.
Her heart twisted into a painful knot of contradiction. She was overwhelmingly relieved to sense Sunday's presence, yet simultaneously consumed by anxiety. She had spent the last several days in a state of constant unease, desperately trying to uncover his whereabouts.
Robin had envisioned countless tragic scenarios to explain why Sunday was actively avoiding her. But in all her wild imaginations, she never once suspected the absurd truth. She never imagined that her dignified, calculating brother had been beaten senseless by a chaotic anomaly named Rekka, and subsequently dragged aboard a cosmic, ghost-fire train to wander the universe as a reluctant passenger.
The current Sunday was already being forcefully molded into the chaotic shape of the Path of Trailblaze.
Meanwhile, lightyears away, Boothill and Rappa were currently crammed inside a claustrophobic storage compartment aboard an Interstellar Peace Corporation vessel. It suddenly dawned on them that while they didn't possess Rekka's direct contact information, they did have Stelle's.
"Hey, sister! For fudge's sake, we have something incredibly important to tell you, it's urgent! Why couldn't we get through to your comms before?" Boothill hissed into his device, forcibly lowering his usually booming voice.
"We were in a meeting," Stelle's deadpan voice crackled through the speaker.
"Oh... well, regardless of that corporate nonsense, do you have any idea where that big darling Rekka is?" Boothill asked, his metallic fingers drumming impatiently against the crate.
"...Turn on the news. The first headline is him," Stelle instructed flatly.
"News? What kind of galactic news did that kid manage to make... Son of a nice lady, what in the touching piece of shirt is this?!" Boothill stared at the holographic projection, utterly dumbfounded. He quickly caught himself and lowered his voice again. "Did I drink too much malt juice?"
What did the broadcast mean, Order had been resurrected?
There was a phase two?!
Before he could process the cosmic absurdity, the muffled voices of two IPC employees drifted in from just outside their hiding spot.
"What do we do... about our missing equipment this time? Our entire ship has been stripped bare..."
"Eh! How can you even say that? It was clearly that... what was his name again? Oh, right! That hateful, heinous galactic criminal Boothill! He burned all the equipment on our ship to a crisp! All the newly requisitioned gear is completely gone!"
"Brilliant, absolutely brilliant. We'll just write it off. It's not like Boothill is actually going to jump out and object to us balancing the books."
They were literally treating him like the Immortal of Balanced Accounts.
"Oh? He really won't, huh?"
Boothill's mechanical jaw locked. The slightly irritated cyborg cowboy vaulted over the edge of the storage crate with a single, fluid motion. He had finally found a target for his pent-up frustration.
"For fudge's sake, you little cuties! Isn't your daddy jumping out to object right now?!"
On the other end of the comms, Stelle listened to a chaotic display of destruction. A rapid series of heavy metallic clangs echoed through the speaker, perfectly harmonized with the terrified screams of Corporation employees, Boothill's vigorous, heavily-censored cursing, and Rappa's intense chanting of Shinobi Mantras. The entire commotion sounded like an absolute, unmitigated disaster.
"...Sister, I'm gonna deal with these little cuties here first! I'll call you back later!... I'll love you to death with one shot, you little cutie!"
Stelle stared at her silent phone. Crying out love at the center of the world, indeed.
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