Chương 57: Chapter 54: Painted Mirror

The table, chairs, even his hands all blurred at the edges, a vibrant, shifting palette painting his skin. Every time he moved, new swirls and peaks would decorate him. He lost himself in just nudging his hand here and there, seeing the way the beige-orange of his skin changed. As he did… someone… took napkins, wiping his face down, cleaning the blood- the deep, crimson splotches on the table slowly disappearing, and he chose to think of them no longer.

The airy, dreamy state he was in gave him the mental balance to finally look up, vision panning around the diner once more, seeing that all of it appeared to be some sort of painting. The two of them were the only ones here, an otherwise empty establishment without even a server to take their order… which, didn't surprise him. Who else would be here?

Soon, though, someone moved around from the front house to the back, and he could see them cooking something from the ingredients that were already present in such a strange place. Without them close, his mind turned back to his memories of the past twenty-four hours, every single one feeling distant and ephemeral, slipping through his fingers, stopping him from losing himself to despair… but not entirely cutting him off from his emotions.

Without his brain shutting down from an overwhelm of stimuli, though, he found himself feeling more than he had, a nauseating horror welling up in his heart. He knew that Halmis had loved Aliata- respected the man for it… and avoided him when he'd failed to save Aliata. He blamed himself for every single death in that battle, especially hers considering that he'd been only a few seconds to late. What would have changed if Onward Evermore hadn't gone for the window to escape first?

What if it'd fought its way out from the start? What if he'd smoothed out Onward Evermore's presence immediately, making it harder for the assassins to track it- would the battle have been over a handful of seconds faster? There were so many places that he might've been able to save her, if he was just a moment faster. Tears fell from his face as runny blue droplets, hitting the chestnut table with several thin taps, the sound only masked by the sizzling griddle of the kitchen a short distance away. Longing.

He'd felt the growing pit of it the entire time he was in the town, and knew this was the emotion Onward Evermore desired so greatly- something his Primary couldn't describe, but he felt bursts of at key moments. The more time he spent in the town, the more he felt displaced, but desiring: a deep want that never truly ceased, only going dormant. Halisn was a quiet town with enough magic to satisfy his curiosity, but it never felt desperate.

It felt safe, and he wanted to be a part of it, but knew he simply couldn't.

"Demigod Aaron," that is what they'd called him, a mark and an honor- something that indicated he stood above them in some way that he perhaps didn't even understand. It'd gotten to him, and perhaps not in a prideful way. With how differently people treated him, and the way they gave him looks, he'd felt estranged from the life he wanted to live. At some point, he just stopped trying to connect with the strangers, not considering it worth his time to even talk to people that wouldn't speak to him as a peer.

Yet he'd longed to do so- to build a life, have friends, have a family. To just be normal. And, as small as it was, he somewhat experienced it. Speaking to people, going to "School," having his hobbies and a job- no matter how unusual they were from regular Overworld activities, they'd been his. Things that he liked to do. He'd longed for more. Yet, now, he had nothing, and he wanted it all back. He wanted to speak with Aliata in the market again about fruit, or craft his spell under Neenaw's supervision.

To hear Ketzi's backhanded praise at his crude-yet-functional style of crafting, and sleep soundly in a bed. Covering his face with his hands, sobs wracked his body, a choking, sputtering cry that went on for several minutes. At some point, a warm presence had wrapped around his shoulder, giving him a sideways hug as he wept. Using several napkins to wipe away the tears and blow his nose, he eventually realized that a plate of pancakes, bacon, and eggs sat in front of him, a side of real coffee next to it.

He wasn't hungry, but as the person across from him ate theirs, prompting him into his own, he finally sighed, picking through the plate slowly at first, quickly being reminded that he hadn't eaten in almost twenty four hours as his appetite returned in an insatiable gluttony. He devoured his plate, everything just slightly burned, but that was perhaps because they'd been forced to come over and check on him. When he was done, he felt… a bit better. Not perfect, not even good, but better.

He scooted back into the corner of the booth, leaning against the wooden wall and curling into a ball on himself.

"Thank you," he said to the air.

"I think I need to sleep for a while but… it was good remembering you while I could." He put his forehead to his knees, closing his eyes and quickly drifting away, losing himself to the airy sensations of the painted diner. * Despite his rest being… fitful, he woke feeling just a bit more mentally fortified to handle everything. Halmis' suicide was utterly shocking, but looking back, Aaron could only feel anger and disgust for the man.

He was sure Aliata had loved him for a reason, but to not only give up, to also put the weight of that on the one person trying to get revenge felt selfish. Aaron would admit that he perhaps didn't understand love, as he'd never experienced it himself, but even if he felt only despair, he wouldn't use his pain to deprive his previous lover of the revenge she deserved.

If Aaron lost his significant other and gave up, wishing for death, he wouldn't kill himself, he'd go on a suicide mission to make every single person involved pay. The grief and longing for a regular life that'd previously strangled his embers of will were beaten back as a spark of anger entered his mind. Not enough to be hate Halmis, but an outcry against the actions themselves. He took hold of that emotion, beating back the darkness in his mind, choosing to change his mindset because otherwise…

He slowly took a deep breath, holding it, then slowly exhaled, calming himself.

'Don't think about it, just keep going.' He stood up, moving into the kitchen. Just before he fell asleep, he'd been cooked for, so it would be his turn to cook now. Digging through the pantry and fridge, he found the stuff to make french toast- something he hadn't tried since his parents and sister passed away. The strange, painted appearance of everything didn't translate over to texture, and everything felt as it should.

Whatever it was causing all of this, he could only imagine it was a mental trick, if nothing else. This novel's true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there. The entire thing… a Place of Power. He'd only encountered one other, the throne way back in Floor 0, and it'd been a lethally dangerous contraption. The diner, though? It was but a harmless building- as far as he knew. Nothing had jumped out at him yet, and it simply had strange properties about it.

He hoped to see more like this when he finally dove down into the Pool after Richard. He knew it was going to be a rough journey, Neenaw confirmed as much with her strange "Underworld" intuition, but it was something new to do, and he found that he wanted to go- not that he was excited, just that, if he could choose to hide in town as someone anonymous, or venture down into the Pool, he'd rather the Pool.

It felt like a completely oppositional statement to his longing for a normal life, but for some reason, he doubted it was; he just didn't have the vocabulary to properly convey what he was thinking, and right now, he didn't want to do any more soul searching. So what would he do next? Yes, go on the journey, but what about the plant soldiers?

With Bwurzix helping the town, they'd likely start donating coins to it to eat in order to fuel its defense; at the same time he didn't want to just leave Halisn defenseless as he knew how long it took for Bwurzix to really get going, and the dandelion ball might expend their energy in a fit of rage like they had just yesterday. … Not only that but, selfishly, he wanted a way to consistently spy on those he cared about without anyone knowing.

If he used the dandelions Bwurzix had a direct connection to, it would be able to see when he did. Even if Bwurzix wouldn't say anything, Aaron just felt like his actions were shameful, and didn't want anyone else to know. So he'd leave soldiers behind to defend, but he didn't have to leave all of them. He wanted to take a few at least. He wouldn't really need sleep, but he wasn't doing this alone, so he needed some to carry anyone that wanted to sleep; the extra hands in a fight were just a plus.

Speaking of the plant people, there was still something to check out of all the Abyssal-mage minds that he'd killed. Continuing to watch his cooking french toast, he tapped into one of his tethers to an inactive guard, diving into the mind within. Unlike last time, when he'd been able to see the bodies captured grays and nosferians, the figures within each of the minds of his assassins were… shrouded. Vaguely humanoid, they were just collections of still, black, smoke, with white eyes being the only defining trait.

Very obviously, they weren't a full human.

"Who are you?" he asked, half-expecting to get no answer.

"Nobody, really" he heard a sighing, exhausted male voice say. Aaron frowned, "You can speak English?"

"Yes."

"Why are you answering me freely?"

"You asked."

"Yes but- nevermind. Why did you attack me?"

"I was told to."

"By who?"

"Someone." Aaron's frown deepened. There was very clearly something wrong with the man. He seemed… shallow? Neutral? Not only that, but the longer Aaron spoke with him, the more a different sensation nagged at him- something he'd felt from his Abyssal stat. It wasn't like he could see into the man as easily as he'd sensed himself, but there was something nagging at him.

Walking closer, he felt a disjointed, incomplete prompt from the Abyssal stat, asking Aaron to reach out, and as he did, a flicker of understanding passed through the man's figure.

"Thanks," he said, his own arm coming up and meeting Aaron's before he could respond. Instantly, the man disintegrated, the pieces flooding into Aaron's skin, startling him with a shock. He physically flinched, ending the vision, and nearly dropping one of the pieces of toast on the ground as he moved it from the pan to the plate. Quickly delving back into the vision, he found that the man truly was gone, and the plant was now just a hollow construct.

Pouring energy into it, he found it significantly harder, and clicked his tongue.

'What the hell was that? Did I just kill him…? Why did he thank me?' Unfortunately, he had no answers from that one. Taking his plates of french toast, he moved back to their table, placing one down in his spot and sitting down to eat; as he did, he saw that his blade and backpack were on the ground as well, only now remembering that he actually left them. End, he thought Windwhipped Seedblossom had grabbed before he'd run, but his backpack was definitely brought here by someone else.

"Thanks," he said to the open air, digging in to his food. They ate quietly for a while, and Aaron found himself staring out the window, surprised when he actually saw an expansive, quiet night on a city street, completely painted, but just as empty as the diner. Staring out at it, he found a modicum of comfort in such a familiar sight, even if he knew he'd be pulled away very soon. When they were done, Aaron took their plates to the sink and started to wash the dishes.

While he knew this was a Place of Power, and would likely magically clean them, it would be rude to make a mess and not clean it up. While he did, he used Windwhipped Seedblossom to lift End up, placing it on the counter next to him and moving the purple-blue mushki feather out of the way, opening the handle. Inside, eight Abyssal knives that he'd stored there to be sure they didn't slice anything else up.

Holding one with his vines, still washing the dishes, he twisted and turned it about in front of his face, studying at it. For all intents and purposes, it was a regular knife- if purple. Even poking it, he got no response. When he tried channeling Underworld energy through it, the knife resisted, sparking, and telling Aaron that it was definitely Abyssal somehow, but he wasn't sure how they'd shot out the energy they had. Tapping into the Abyssal stat, he tried and failed to push his power through it.

'It seems it's these knives, summoning things, and absorbing non-Abyssals that are missing from my stat. All it does for me is make me stronger in a way I don't really understand… but, which might be the reason that shadow person answered me at all.

'Abyssals seem to all be alive, even the subsidiary ones- not unlike the Underworld and its Imprints, if still in a different way. Unlike Imprints, the constructs don't really fight against their captors or their own deaths, as if acknowledging those stronger than them as superior in some way.

'The shadow guy likely saw me as someone stronger, someone to respect, and just kind of… did what I said.' It was a shot in the dark but his best guess.

'Go figure, I finally understand the decimal points and now I'm left wondering about a new stat anyway.' Putting the knife back into the case, he finished up the dishes, moving to his table and searching through his backpack and verifying that everything Neenaw gave him was there.

'A few bundles of fresh food in some sealed wooden lunchboxes, four changes of clothes, my coinpouch, and my brightsmithed items of a clock, a luring candle, a ceramic bowl that heats up any food that's put in it, and a particularly comfortable sleeping bag. I'll probably be getting more use out of those last two items than I thought I would.'

He might've received more from her if he'd even known he was going to be leaving soon, but this was fine as well, and there was exactly zero chance of him entering Halisn before he'd completed his journey. Shrugging on his pack, he did one final check to make sure everything was ready, and as he was about to move towards the door, a niggling sensation touched his mind.

Looking around, he found it nowhere else in the restaurant, but specifically at his table, so he quickly sat back down, running his hand over it and trying to find where the feeling was coming from. Closer to the napkin dispenser, he felt the tingle on his fingers, but when he grabbed it, he knew it wasn't quite right. Over the syrup and ketchup, his hand finally ran over the small salt and pepper shakers, going "Aha!" as he felt what'd been calling out to him. Picking them up, he realized that both were Imprints!

He wanted to study them immediately, but there'd be time on the road, and the longer he waited, the more likely it would be that Richard might figure out a way to pry his spell off him, so he slid back out of the booth, slipping them into his backpack, secured in a little pocket on the inside.

'Imprints really are more common on Floor 1, huh?' A last glance around the buried diner, he found it tempting to never leave; it was a small getaway, a peaceful place to rest his weary mind, but he also knew it was fake. It was just as it appeared: a painted, fictitious, still image. He would not grow here. He would find no satisfaction from this place.

So, walking out the glass doors, he stepped into the dark Underworld once more, the flowery lens he'd seen the world in falling away to reveal the cruel reality once more. Squeezing through the crack, he found the blue sky and dense expanse of mirrors all about. On the outside of the bowl-like mountain range, he found rolling hills that peaked at certain mountains, with valleys and ravines splitting them up.

A jagged, scarred landscape, and as far as the eye could see, hundreds of thousands of standing panes of mirrors.

'Damn. I really haven't been thinking of the big picture here, huh? If I can make a few hundred dandelions in a couple days, how many mirrors can form over the course of at least a hundred years, considering they were around before Neenaw and the town?' His dandelions hadn't reached this far, so he was blind to whether anyone from Halisn would be venturing out in expeditions, searching for whatever they did.

He doubted it, considering they'd just suffered a massive tragedy and the funeral was today, but he dreaded the fact that it was even possible. So, smoothing out his aura to make himself less noticeable, he pulled up his mental indication of where Richard was. It pointed him down the "Straightest line" to his target, and told him to travel directly away from Bwurzix. Silver linings, at least he'd come out to the correct side of the mountain range.

Through Mycelaric Expanse, he told eight of his dandelion monsters to slip through the guards and make their way towards him, keeping hidden if possible. While they did that, he started his journey across the dystopian landscape.