Path of the Deathless

382 Ex Nihilo

—Transcript of Transcendent-Heretic Udraal Thann breaking into Chorus Highmoot and boasting of the “Deathless” (First recorded instance)382

Ex Nihilo

The Skill Fusion took hold inside Shiv like a spark setting fire to kindling, a clash of stone on stone from which a flame was spawned. Yet it wasn't he who combusted first, but rather the Red Rider's Hand looming behind him.

It came ablaze in a burst of mana, but rather than being of that harsh glow which signaled the presence of Pyromancy, it was barren, utterly devoid of all coloration beyond a strange and ominous grayness. The very same magic formed an aura around Shiv, billowing out from him in undulating waves, like a misted flame dancing to the caress of passing winds. Yet the grayness remained, even for him, its coloration the embodiment of ambivalence and indifference.

The hollow flame stood as a paradox, for as it burned, Shiv felt a coldness settle over him. It was not the kind of cold that chilled the air and alchemized one's breath into fog, but rather an empty coldness. It burned away one's will, sapped the spirit, and drained any notions of purpose and poignancy.

Shiv heard his own voice tremble forth from the hand that loomed behind him.

As the Red Rider's Hand spoke on, Shiv realized he wasn't the only one who could hear it. Its voice hammered the world and sent blast waves of gray flame spreading through existence. It licked at Marikos. It swept through Candles, and both of them combusted, their insides burning just like their outsides were, but their skin did not wither or scald. Still, they were ablaze, caught within Shiv's grasp. He could feel them as his mana licked at them. He could sense their intentions boiling, their sense of self withering along the outside.

As his skill took hold, another revelation was delivered unto him, one he had never sensed before. There was an exterior to one's ego: the false husk you constructed from your beliefs, ideals, understandings, and culture. Philosophy in action was the vehicle of your life, and most did not build it well. Shiv could feel how fragile both Marikos and Candles were. The former was too simplistic and unwilling to grapple with the hard aspects of his psychology and his environment. The latter was broken, madness gripping him in its stifling grasp, but there was something else: the ruins of something grand, a marvel of architecture that now lay in scattered pieces around the outer shell that once comprised his sense of self.

the hand proclaimed.

Marikos looked more stunned than Shiv could ever recall seeing him, but his astonishment was second only to Shiv's own.

Before Shiv came a new notification, and it dubbed the rider's right hand with a new moniker, an assigned title given to the entity that now embodied the limb, an extension of Shiv born of his new skill.

Nihilist:

As the Nihilist spoke, its ashen voice spread, no longer thundering from within the Red Rider's Hand, but instead echoing from every bit of gray fire which clung to the world surrounding Shiv. It kept spreading and kept spreading until a massive conflagration was sweeping through Gate Piety. Bodies were consumed, the hollow flames clinging to them like tar and refusing to let go. They did not clash directly against Magical Resistance, though Shiv could still feel the trembling counter-mana come alive at the touch of his new, aberrant Pyromancy.

Instead, it continued latching onto something that felt social, but higher: philosophy. The very notions that one projected upon the world, the way one perceived the world. The way Shiv believed the world to be.

The dragons and Hydra present were speechless, gawking at Shiv's sudden evolution. Their hearts filled with terror and confusion. Marikos, meanwhile, found himself trying to put out the hollow flames, to no avail.

A translucent arrow splashed against Shiv's mind, Roland's voice carried upon a telepathic hiss.

Shiv didn't reply, for he had no good answer to give. He was as lost by his own skill as everyone else. The only thing he could do was reassure them that he didn't intend to cause any harm.

But with that thought, the fire around him began laughing once more, the hollowness filled with a cold, almost scornful mirth, if not for how uncaring the flame was.

And for the first time, Shiv felt something gnaw at his belief. It was an insidious feeling, so subtle that the damage almost went unnoticed, but he found himself questioning why he felt so beholden to others. Why he thought their lives mattered. Why he did all he could now to keep collateral damage to a minimum. The hollow flames grew grander and wilder, crackling and whipping until they were skybound, licking toward the very heights of the dimension. Yet still, nothing was reduced to ash, for it seemed an aspect of the flames remained in slumber.

But already it exerted a portion of its power upon Shiv, making his Philosophy wither and weaken, and it felt like something was burning through his way of perceiving the world. Then memories came back to him. Of the slave child he couldn't save from 811. Of Guardshead Leu. And of all the people he wanted to protect but couldn't.

Shiv's fists clenched, and the resolve within him grew ever harder. At the same time, his hollow flame calmed but continued to grow. “We should be responsible for the world,” Shiv began, sensing the Skill’s intent. “We should be responsible for the people in it, for the ones we feed and the ones we will end up fighting for. For the people we try to protect and the people we try to kill. We should be responsible for all of them because we're not alone here. I don't fully get what you're talking about in this abstract philosophy stuff, but it matters. It matters because I believe it matters, and I'll act on that belief. And in the end, I don't really want people to die because…” Shiv paused, and the Harbinger bade him to consider his words carefully.

In the meantime, the gray flames were silent and stable but burned with a greater intensity than ever before. All eyes were on him: The Descenders, the Dragon-Brokers, the people in the distance along the surface gateway, the Arachnae Order, Roland, and more were all watching. And with how widespread the flames were crashing through the gateway like a wildfire—consuming the ground, avoiding the Perch before reaching the surface district and wrapping that in its shivering embrace—everyone could hear the Nihilist’s voice.

“Because life seems to be everything,” Shiv finally said. “All those experiences, all that memory, everything someone can be… It's too much to be worth nothing in the end.”

Nihilist:

And with that, the Nihilist stopped speaking. The flames were fed. Shiv felt his Pyromancy mana climb to astronomical heights. As he composed himself and took hold of his mana field, he realized what had happened. It had spread, creeping and building as it savored and drew succor from every bit of internalised philosophy surrounding him. It found fuel in his own beliefs, in how he perceived the world and how strong he felt his convictions to be, but it also absorbed other people's perceptions like an uncontrolled hearth fed more firewood.

In summation, philosophy became its kindling, and from that it arrived at a power. What kind of power? Shiv wasn't sure, but as he delved into his Pyromancy, he began catching glimpses—flickers of dancing flames wrapped around the surrounding Dragon-Knights that played silhouettes in motion, displaying formative moments from their pasts. Shiv flinched back. The insight his new skill gave him was invasive and astounding. It made the flames effectively a canvas, a stage to portray how one believed and witnessed the world.

But while Shiv could see into the others, could read the ripples of philosophy from the fires that shrouded those caught in his inferno, they seemed utterly ignorant. Never once did Tallowine lift her head and stare at the mirage taking shape over Tall Ben, depicting the Hydra in days long past, sweeping and slashing out with twelve heads and two arms, protecting what seemed like a small house filled with terrified figures against unseen invaders.

Neither did any of the Dragon-Brokers turn their attention to Poverty as a silent pantomime play took shape in the flames that clung to him. Shiv saw a small dragon, far too young for even flight, be torn into by ravenous beasts. He watched as they ripped pieces away from him and pulled limbs free from his body, and then regenerated what they took with Biomancy to feast upon him all over again. Within those moments, lingered a desperate urge to never be without: to be so stuffed full with wealth, power, influence, and protection that he would never fall prey and become something between sustenance and a slave to another ever again.

And then there was a hint to a mystery Shiv had long since been curious about. His gray flames co-mingled with Candles’ glowing body, and as a twin flame dance unfolded between the raging blaze that defined the Pyromancer and the hollow bonfire subservient to Shiv's will, there was the shape of a man, an elf that stood tall over Candles. He held something in his arm, a smaller shape, perhaps that of a child, and he reached up and pointed a single finger toward the firmament. From that finger came a needle of fire, a thread of light that speared high and pierced the dark. As both the figures watched, from that single point the thread parted, spreading as bright veins across the void, drafting trails and paths to paint constellations between the stars in the night sky.

But the vision wasn't to last; the glimpse Shiv got into Candles' philosophy faded far quicker than that of Poverty, and the elf was replaced by a gleaming skeleton that simply wanted to burn and burn and burn until there was nothing left.

If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement.

the Harbinger commented, gazing upon Candles with renewed sympathy.

And it was then that Shiv noticed something else about Candles' Pyromancy. When the shade of his past projected the flame, it wasn't a wild thing with flicking whorls or explosive embers. It was a concentrated beam, flame distilled into concentrated light.

A laser, as Can Hu had once called it. Far more than a mere uncontrolled wildfire.

“Uh, don’t be alarmed!” Shiv cried out, finally shaking off his stupor. A reverberation of his voice spread through his gray flames. “I just went through a bit of a skill fusion. Some of my Pyromancy just decided to… spread out.”

Tall Ben asked, coiling his necks around the flame, trying to affect it in any way possible. His confusion was palpable and shared; the atmosphere amongst the Descenders was quickly turning from alarm to general befuddlement.

“Unique Pyromancy,” Shiv answered honestly. “Mixed in with Philosophy. And Cooking.”

Tallowine asked in surprise.

“Not entirely sure yet,” Shiv said, neglecting to mention how he could catch vague symbols and glimpses into another’s governing philosophy.

the Nihilist whispered.

the Harbinger replied.

The Nihilist hummed, the emotion behind the ebbing sound unreadable.

Yellowbelly grumbled, squinting one good eye at Shiv’s new capability. Unlike the Descenders, the Brokers were more alert than ever before—for they were beasts that actualized through the highest of Social Skills, and with a Unique merger between Philosophy, Cooking, and Pyromancy, the Deathless now possessed a new dimension they could not predict.

Shiv thought, frowning at his semi-awakened fire.

The hollow flames rolled with mockery and bemusement.

Shiv muttered dryly.

Writing 19 > 26

The flame had the audacity to laugh.

Tall Ben asked.

the Nihilist asked just as Shiv opened his mouth.

One of Tall Ben’s heads nodded. The rest remained on guard. Tall Ben then paused as his empathetic core filled with sadness.

The worth of Tall Ben’s faith burned more philosophical than religious. Shiv glimpsed a truth about the Hydra: He didn’t truly believe that he might be reunited with his fallen brother-in-arms, but he did hope, and he carried within him an echo of the lost.

the Nihilist declared in response, speaking on Shiv’s behalf.

Shiv clenched his teeth. “Flame. Shut the fuck up.”

Tall Ben went still.

But the gray flames were fearless and bold. They burned, because what else could a flame do?

The Nihilist’s reply caught Shiv—and almost everyone else—off guard. “Huh,” Shiv muttered. “I thought you were going to say something pointlessly mean or cruel.”

Know-Nothing asked, jabbing at the fire to discover its personality.

The Nihilist laughed once more.

And Shiv observed that the skill had to be Heroic-Tier, because there was no drawback like that of suffering a Pre-Legendary Evolution of such an abstract skill. Instead, the gray flames built and built the longer they clung to existing philosophies. However, a single issue remained: though the amount of fire Shiv gathered was awesome, it still seemed a barren flame that refused to serve its fundamental purpose.

The Nihilist simply did not burn.

And with that declaration, the hollow flames changed—a scintillation arose within its depths, and the aspect descended from The Chef Unwavering was aroused.

“Well, the potstickers,” Shiv said. “Kind of the entire point of us being here?”

“Food of food?” Shiv blinked. “What? I don’t… Look, can you just answer things straight instead of talking in roundabouts and hints?”

The Nihilist didn’t sigh or complain; it did as Shiv asked.

Shiv struggled to process the Nihilist’s claims. “You being metaphorical?”

“You can turn anything into food? Kinda like my pan?”

Tentatively, Shiv drew the Nihilist back in on himself. All the spreading fires were wrenched back into place—gathered atop Shiv’s hand in a condensed ball of placid grayness, waiting to be unleashed.

Nearby, the Red Rider’s Hand returned to its original colors of war and vitality. Yet, Shiv could feel it spent somehow—like something that sustained it had been eaten away by a hungering blaze. A deep feeling of outrage welled up inside Shiv, yet it came to him through a layer of insulation, as if it had to cross a barricade before the feelings became his. He shook off the Challenger’s transplant-bullshit for now; he had another ridiculous skill to figure out, and he was going to get the potstickers done before he did anything else.

Everyone looked on with bated breath. Roland drew close enough that his mysteriousness faded as he departed from the backdrop of the mana core and formed a flaming arrow in anticipation of a potential calamity to come.

“Marikos,” Shiv said. “If this thing goes out of control and starts turning everyone around me into potstickers somehow, you have my full permission to splatter me.”

Marikos nodded and lifted his mace without hesitation.

Shiv thought wryly. And then the sentiment collapsed as he remembered that practically all his friends were reliable killers.

Uva’s voice echoed in the back of his head suddenly. Her thoughts were tense with frustration.

“Huh? The Skill Fusion?”

“It’s barely been a few days. We’re already dealing with countless problems at the Gate. Must I beg you not to set the insides aflame with this… What manner of Pyromancy do you even possess now?”

“So dark,” Candles whimpered. “No vibrancy. It’s not a real fire.”

“Trying to figure that out myself,” Shiv answered. “Alright, everyone. test one: hope we don’t all get cooked.”

Marikos angled himself in front of the other knights with his shield upraised. The Dragon-Brokers began casting a chain of wards that formed a hexagonal dome around them and, notably, the Descenders. Uva opened a fissure in reality and spawned a wall of fractured spiderlings meant to intercept and infect Shiv’s mana if it got out of control. Roland had his arrow pointed directly at Shiv.

“Felling… Guys, really?”

Tallowine called out. Shiv could barely see her silhouette through all the wards, but realized she had an arrow aimed at his sphere of flame as well.

the Nihilist answered.

“Hey, Nihilist, can you mimic the skill of shutting the fuck up when I don’t want you to talk?”

“You’re quickly starting to annoy me more than A Glimpse of Perspective, so there’s that.”

the Nihilist said without any emotion.

Shiv channeled the gray fires out in a gushing wave. The release nearly blasted him back. He had accumulated an immense amount of fire from how long he allowed his flames to kindle. Being untrained in Pyromancy saw him taken by surprise as well; the fire wasn’t just an explosion, but the very lore of excitation, destruction, and ignition. Wrestling his mana back under control, he adjusted his fires to flow more as a trickle than a broken dam, and hence they glided over his potstickers, searing them deep and through. To Shiv’s growing delight, he realized he could feel the dough harden and fry, sense the shrooms, chives, and ground pork within simmer and cook—and then his delight turned to disbelief as he noticed the insulating tray holding the shack-sized potstickers.

The metal, possessed of no magical resistance, was bathed in scintillating mana and then marked as foodstuff. From there, its texture changed and fried—it began to sizzle and hiss, and as columns of steam rose high into the air, an overwhelming taste of a new, novel flavor took hold. The best way Shiv could describe it was a cousin to bittersweet; he'd never savored anything like that before. As the pungency grew stronger, so too did the metal alchemize and deform until it resembled a glistening, grilled slice of alloy.

Shiv stopped channeling his Pyromancy, and he descended in an instant. Barely able to believe his senses, he came to a stop beside a partially cooked potsticker that stood taller than him by twice over, and knelt down atop a patch of altered metal that was now something else—something edible.

Marikos called out from behind his shield.

Poverty bellowed.

Shiv interrupted Poverty by using his Last Morsel to cut and scoop a portion of the cooked tray out from the ground. It parted like supple rib-meat ready to fall off the bone. So close, he was drowning in all the smells, and something inside him watered with hunger and true curiosity.

Shiv resurrected himself from his Severed Shadow, producing a new body of flesh and blood.

Uva said, urging caution.

But the allure was beyond Shiv’s ability to resist. He bit into the tray. He expected his teeth to greet something metallic—to gag on the taste.

Instead, the texture felt… perfect. It was seared through but not overcooked. And the flavor itself… the flavor itself…

“Holy fucking shit,” Shiv gasped. “This might be the best tray I’ve ever eaten.” Slowly, he pivoted and stared at his gathered guests. “You guys take a break. I’ll see you fed in a moment. You and everyone else.” He looked at the gray, scintillating fires dancing upon his hands as a smile dawned on his face. “And I think we’ll be having more than potstickers today. A lot more. I think… I think…” Shiv then widened his senses and felt the urge to experiment take hold. “I think I want to figure out how many things I can actually cook.”

And in the background, Tallowine coughed aloud.

***

The scent of this new, novel flavor coiled through the air on curling fingers of smoke, and it traveled across the Gate, staining every nose and tongue, and sinking through walls and wards alike.

One such place it found itself in was the bunker down at the Gate’s center—now layered and guarded by new protections to hold back any attacks from the Tutorial, and also hosting a very specific guest of its own.

It was here that the Culturist lay aslumber in a barren room, under constant watch by Trapdoor Operatives Liquid Serpent and Spark Ripper.

“I still think we should electro-torture him!” Liquid Serpent snickered while leering at the orc Legend. “That wakes anyone up. Even a Delving Legend.”

“You just think it's fun,” Spark Ripper mumbled glumly.

“It's fun because it works.”

“Because you like hearing people scream. You also make me do all the electrocuting."

“And it works. Or they die! Which also works!” Liquid Serpent tilted her head. “Say… What’s that smell? Are you leaking, Ripper?”

“W-what? No.”

“Hm. Show me your oil ports.”

Spark Ripper shuffled and looked around nervously. “Liquid, we’re on assignment…”

“I’m not sticking my palps in this time: just show me.” She leaned far down and ran a clawed hand through his white hair and another two along his back. Being designed after a male Umbral rather than an industrial machine brought many positives, such as fitting into just about any space designed for humanoids without issue, but it also came with disadvantages, such as being two-thirds of Liquid Serpent’s height. “Come on,” she urged. “I'll even get on my knees for you. It'll be quick.”

“Not h-here!”

“Don’t make me remind you of the basics of CQB, Ripper…” she breathed tauntingly into his right ear, making a shiver run up his titanium spine, which doubled in intensity as she ran another hand down his chest.

But then the very real possibility of Still Water being in the room without either of them knowing came to his mind, and Spark Ripper ducked out from under Liquid Serpent’s hands and took a step back in the same motion he drew his single-edged sword with, electricity jumping across the length of the blade. “Stay back, Liquid.”

The Weaveress let out a cackle and produced six tactical knives from her combat garments. “Defend yourself, Ripper!”

As a highly workplace inappropriate impromptu grappling match took hold outside the warded vault in which the Culturist lay, the mana-charged smell born of a cooked tray leaked through the protections little by little. The unattuned mana of Philosophy and Cooking were aspects unprotected against, and the flavor, like the skill that made it, was totally unique. It found its way to the Delving orc, and as he lay there, a blissful expression on his face, his nose responsively drew in a breath—and then he sniffed.

He sniffed again. And with a third sniff, his stomach began to grumble with vicious need. “Food…”