Return of the Tower Conqueror

Chapter 307

Ascendance (VIII)

Gears were loud and cranked, spinning uncontrollably, endlessly. Amidst the rotting stone that seemed as ancient as the stardust it was made from, and amidst the growing vines and lethargy of trees, the gears still spun. Like magic.

It worked against all manner of normalcy, but worked still it did. Tick-tock, it rang. For the gears themselves were but a supporting cast, a slow crescendo to the climax. Up the tower made of ashen, decaying stone with holes aplenty, and a tower crooked and lean and seeming as though it would topple at the gentlest gust of the wind, cradled within the chamber of red gold and immaculate, suffused steel... was a clock.

It was a clock like no other, its hands made of cosmic cold, numbers etched onto a glassed platform made from starshine, beautiful beyond compare. Among the ruins and decay and the dying world, the clock shone with life, with resplendence of a high-burning star. It was beautiful, but beyond beauty, it was a clock like no other, for its hands and its numbers and its means did not measure the passage of hours--but the passage of Cycles.

Throughout the unrelenting cosmos, the endless rivers and seas and prongs of civilizations and marvels beyond touch, only three such clocks could be found. One stood hanging at the top of the Maker, the centralmost Tower of the Divine Realm, the heart, the cradle of Everything. Another was kept within the confines of a museum, where artifacts of the greatest importance were held and preserved. And the third one... lay here, amidst the perpetual ruins of a once-grand civilization.

Yuun cracked open a bottle of wine, his gaze adrift. He hadn’t expected to return here. Ever. And yet, there he stood, beneath the grand, cosmic instrument of perfection. But he was hardly awed and rose-eyed. In fact, it was the opposite. He despised the Clock. He despised the Tower within which it resided. And he despised the hands and the numbers etched on the glass he loathed. After all, it took everything from him. Everything.

Pouring a whole bottle of wine down his throat in one go, he tossed it aside, letting it crash and shatter against the rock. And then he opened another. Past the tower, little else could be seen; after all, Mouraay Jungles have taken over everything. But, behind him, cradling the skyline, were the last remnants of his home. The sky-piercing Towers of Byeon. His people’s attempt to define themselves, prove themselves on the cosmic stage.

Even now... they stood. Though clearly old and in disrepair, they endured the passage of eons, standing defiant still. His peoples name may have been forgotten in the annals, but their mark remained. However pitiful it might have become.

Looking at the clock and at the hands and at the numbers, Yuun wanted to vomit. They reminded him of everything he hated, of everything he despised, of everything he had been fighting ever since this place burned.

Sitting down, he turned around, his back to the clock. Someone did this on purpose, he knew. This world... didn’t exist in the Vaults. Only those privy to cosmic secrets were aware of the fallen Ruins of Annadesh, the Empire of Stars, the Empire that burned. The Empire that wept. The Empire that died.

And yet, the Doors were opened. Doors to the hell were broached and given to the unsuspecting ones. The children, he saw. Tiny, wishful conquerors. The ilk that wouldn’t make it as slaves during the Empire’s heyday. Now they wandered the lands.

The world was not empty. The world was eerie, strange, full of miserable life and even more miserable death. Was this their punishment, Yuun mused? Were they sent here to die? No, it can’t have been that. To open the Doors to Annadesh without alerting anyone...

“I suspected I would find you here,” a melodic, playful voice startled Yuun who shot up to his feet. “The Last of the Sons.”

“Who?!” Yuun exclaimed, preparing himself for battle. However, no attack came, and his eyes quickly fixated on the ‘figure’ beside him. She sat loosely on top of a rock, half-transparent, her head cocked to the side, lips curled up in a smile, a pair of eyes beyond beautiful. For a moment, even Yuun found himself enraptured with the woman, before finally managing to tear himself away.

“Ah, first him, now you,” she said, sighing. “Am I really that awful at attracting men?”

“... who are you?” Yuun asked, hardly dropping his guard.

“I am the one who interrupted your peaceful drinking-myself-to-death, from the stench of your breath,” she replied. “And the one who wanted to talk with you. And, well, this was the only way I knew how.”

“The only way was to disturb the resting place of my people by inviting some children to spread their filth about?!” Yuun quizzed, somewhat angered. And yet, he didn’t dare attack. After all, no matter how strong he was... he was not who she was. A Divine.

“Now, now, calm down,” she chuckled gingerly. “I didn’t merely invite them to disturb you. There is plenty they can learn from this place. The whole of the cosmos, really, could learn. But... alas, we never do, do we? Truth be told,” she added with a bit of melancholy in her voice. “I feared I might not find you. After all, Primal Writs are quite... unreliable, to say the least. Old pieces of scrupulous tabloid, for a change, were correct. Much to my joy.”

“...”

“Before anything else,” the woman looked at him suddenly, her gaze shifting, eyes turning sympathetic. “I would like to express my deepest sorrow. Though I was faintly aware... being here is... painful, for me even. I cannot possibly fathom just how much it hurts you. I am sorry for opening up old scars, and doubly sorry those scars were ever inflicted upon you.”

“... if I wanted a sorry-ass apology from the devils,” Yuun scoffed. “I would have stormed your fucking halls eons ago. Spare me your pity, woman.”

“... I can’t,” she said. “You are pitiful, after all. Only cold and dead would not pity you, the Last Son. But... if it’s not my pity that you want, then, perchance, you’d like my fire.”

“Your... what?” Yuun asked.

“See that boy?” the woman pointed at one of the young children currently entering the Forest of Dreams.

“Yes. What of him?” he asked.

“I am trying to turn him into a weapon,” she said. “A sword, if you will, that will cut through the veil of heavens.”

“Him?” Yuun questioned in mild disgust. “May as well take one of my dogs.”

“Don’t dismiss him just yet,” the woman smiled gently. “When you are trying to cast the blade that would defile the heavens, you need to be quite careful. After all, I can’t just as well pluck a lad or a lass from major worlds, can I? Besides, he’s doing just fine, for now. Lagging only ever so slightly behind the Children from the Halls.”

“...”

“But a singular sword will never cut the heavens, I’m afraid,” she added, glancing back at Yuun. “But many just might.”

“... what? You want me to be your sword?” Yuun scoffed. “Forgive me. I’m not interested.”

“Really? You’re not interested?” the woman cocked her head back and looked at the clock. “Or... are you afraid?”

“...”

“Fear’s nothing to be ashamed of,” she added. “In fact, I’m quite afraid of certain things as well. Did you hear about rukoosh? It’s this slimy, oozy bug--it terrifies the crap out of me. One time, I was dared to touch it, and I burned the entire place down and ran away in terror. Fuck those things. Seriously.”

“...” Yuun stumbled a bit, realizing that the woman was... slightly different than he pinned her as.

“Since the time immemorial,” she said. “The heavens have only bled thrice, the Last Son. As it’s said, Once For the Fire, Once For the Soul, and Once For the Time. I don’t want heavens just to bleed, this time.”

“Why?” Yuun quizzed. “You are a Divine. One of them. Why would you want to desecrate your own home?”

“Divine?” she scoffed. “That title had lost its meaning many, many, many moons ago, I’m afraid. What that place has become is... wrong. Just... wrong.”

“Then what? Are you with the Council?”

“With those old, jaded, power-hungry cocks? Gods no,” the woman shuddered.

“Then... what are you? What’s your purpose with this?!”

“... on my first day of becoming a Divine,” she said. “I was offered--that’s right, offered--to be part of a massive orgy sixty times, offered to watch weak people beat each other to death a hundred and forty times, offered to randomly annihilate a world for fun thrice, and offered to be fucked by a goat twice. In just a single day. What am I? Believe it or not, the closest thing to ‘normal’ that you will find up there.”

“...”

“The Halls will stand so long as the hands tick,” she said, once again looking at him. “And for the hands to stop... we’ll need you, the Last Son.”

“Humph. What makes you think I even know how? If I had known... I’d have destroyed this damned thing already,” Yuun said, taking out yet another bottle of wine. However, just before he could drink it, a force well beyond his own ripped it from his arms and tossed it aside.

“You do know,” she said, jumping off the rock and walking up to him. She was tall, Yuun realized--a full head taller than him. And yet... it felt as though she was looking at him from the even ground. Magic... “Deep down, beyond whatever you have become... you are a Clockmaker. The last of your kind. There is an old saying in the Writs, written as a joke as to not be burned--a Clockmaker, a Sword , a Hand, and a Shield walk into a tavern. I have a Sword, I am a Shield, and I only need a Hand still to find. But should any of us fall, there are plenty to replace us. But a Clockmaker... Clockmaker is but one, the Last Son. They made sure of it. So, I will beseech you once again--will you come with me in our journey to cut through the heavens and remedy the cosmic injustices running back through the infinite cycles?”

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