Chapter 736 - Reality and Illusion

The very concept that reality was made of threads was a bit misleading.  From Zeke’s perspective, it was true.  That wasn’t to imply that what everyone else saw was any less real, though.  Rather, it was as if everything existed on multiple planes, and the threads were a representation of the underlying truth of all reality.  The other expression – the one everyone else saw – was still valid, even if it sometimes felt like what he saw was somehow more. 

Perhaps that impression came for the fact that, with a single snipped string, he could affect such drastic changes.  But it was all connected.  It was all valid.  It was all real. 

Zeke wasn’t certain how long he’d been floating in space, but he suspected it had been years.  As much as he wanted to go to his friends, to let them know that he was okay, he refused to give in to that. 

Part of him knew that his hesitation came from fear.  He didn’t know what he’d find when he saw them.  He wasn’t certain how they might react to his long absence.  Had they moved on?  Or were they waiting on him to return?  Zeke wasn’t certain which one he would have preferred.  Selfishly, he imagined them pining after him, but he knew precisely how unhealthy something like that would be. 

By comparison, the notion that they might have moved on was much better.  And worse, because it would shatter the image of his relationships.  But as much as he wanted them to stay the same, that just wasn’t realistic.  He could only stay away for so long before people moved on.

The other reasons Zeke had remained in deserted space were entirely practical in nature.  According to the Waymaster’s drone, his thoughts had been powerful enough to slaughter billions of people lightyears away.  He couldn’t risk hurting his friends, so following that logic, he couldn’t return until he was certain that his presence wouldn’t harm his companions or his people.

Then there was his mastery of his abilities to consider.  When he’d disconnected himself from the Framework, he had lost access to his skills.  That meant that he was both uniquely vulnerable and far more powerful than he had any right to be.  And until he learned to work with his new mastery over threads, he would be too weak to defend himself.

Because he didn’t think for a second that Shar Maelaine would go down easily.  She was older and more powerful than Aja and Oda combined, and what’s more, she had gathered many allies to her banner.  Gods all, lesser and greater alike – they would oppose him. 

And Zeke needed to be able to defend himself. 

For that, he’d been practicing with the treads.  Picking them apart wasn’t terribly complicated, and he could manage that much in his sleep.  But that often came with unintended consequences like the destruction of a planet, and he wanted to avoid that kind of thing if possible. 

That he even added that small addendum was evidence of how far he’d come.  Or how far he’d fallen.  Once, he’d spent days burying the dead out of nothing but respect.  The Framework had even awarded him a title for it.  And here he was effectively shrugging his shoulders about the notion of killing a planet.

Oh, he would avoid it if he could, but if it came down to it, he wouldn’t lose any sleep over something like that.  He had a greater purpose, and one that didn’t allow him to consider those sorts of events.  Against the destruction of their entire reality, what did a few billion lives truly mean?

In addition to trying to learn how to recreate his abilities, Zeke also engaged in general practice with the threads.  It was one thing to snip a few here and there, but it was something else entirely to weave them together to create something new.  Perhaps it was just a byproduct of his nature, but he found the first much easier than the second.  Not surprising, all things considered.  He’d always had a talent for destruction, after all. 

In any case, Zeke alternated between recreating his skills and trying to create new projections of the underlying building blocks of reality, and to his surprise, he’d already found some success.

The first skill he figured out was [Hand of Creation] – an unsurprising turn of events, given how often he’d used it.  Not only that, but he understood it better than any of the others.  At least at first.  That changed as he moved to the next few.

[Eye of Reckoning] came next, then [Primordial Titan].  But to his surprise, that was his limit.  He felt certain that his techniques could work. The threads were all in the right place.  But when he tried to empower them, they fell apart, waving like a tangle of loose hoses. 

It actually took more than a year for him to recognize the problem, and it was a surprising turn of events. 

He had too much power.  The foundation of those abilities – or the woven strings that comprised them – just couldn’t handle the amount of power he could bring to bear.  The revelation was humbling in how obvious it was.  He didn’t lack the power to rebuild all of his skills.  Indeed, it was the opposite – he was just too strong. 

That was when he started to experiment, layering strings atop one another, twisting them around each other, and tying them into flowing knots.  Some of his techniques worked quite well, but others were non-starters.  But each experiment was valuable – even the failures. 

Gradually, Zeke learned more and more about the threads.  He never managed to fully recreate his lost skills, but he did manage to build facsimiles for most of them.  And the ones he could remake were stronger than ever before.  For instance, [Primordial Titan] grew to the point where it could rival Aja’s world-sized tree, and [Eye of Reckoning] was similarly empowered. 

But the true winner was his approximation of [Primordial Wrath].  It was no longer the same sort of skill, and he didn’t dare use it.  But just one look at that thickly woven tangle of strings, and he knew just how much destruction it could visit upon his enemies.  He could destroy whole galaxies with that ability. 

Perhaps even an entire universe.

For that reason, he chose not to try it out, so there was every chance that when he did, it might do nothing.  Or it might fracture all of reality.  Probably somewhere in between, but he couldn’t be certain.

In addition to trying to adapt to his new abilities, Zeke also attempted to learn control.  Scaling down his power was just as important as rearming himself.  In fact, learning to temper the effects of his presence was what took up the bulk of his time, and it was ultimately why he didn’t return to the tower much sooner.

Floating in the center of space, he reached out.  As he did so, he watched the threads bend and flex with the motion.  They quivered, but they did not break.  He sped up, and a few strings began to fray.  So, he locked himself down, repairing them as he returned his hand to its original position.  Then, he did it again. 

And again after that.

Over and over, he repeated the motion millions of times as the years passed him by.  Each iteration was a little less impactful.  Oddly enough, the key wasn’t trying not to tear the threads.  Rather, he simply needed to repair them along the way.  It was the only method that worked, and practicing it gave him an opportunity to practice manipulating the strings. 

It was long, tedious work, but as the years went by, he slowly mastered it.  Once he could throw a punch, harnessing all the speed he could muster, and not tear a whole in reality along the way, he decided to incorporate more complex movements.  Each time he added something – even if it was as simple as tucking his chin – he needed to learn to not only repair the damage, but also control the ripples of his attention. 

Decades passed.  Then, more than a century later, he felt secure in his ability to cut through reality without leaving devastation in his wake. 

Unless he wanted to.

He could move without leaving even a ripple behind.  And what’s more, he could create things out of thin air.  Normally, those couldn’t be very complex, but he had managed to rebuild his lost hammer, mostly because he was so familiar with it.  When he wrapped his hands around its haft, there was something familiar missing, but try as he might, he couldn’t figure out what that might be.

Still, it was comforting, having it in hand.

He spent another two decades practicing before he felt close to ready to return to his companions. 

But in the end, Talia was the one to come to him.

He felt her coming from lightyears away.  When he first sensed her craft, he’d worried that his enemies had found him.  However, it only took a second for him to recognize the undead woman for who she was. 

He turned in her direction and waited. 

The vessel couldn’t cover ground very quickly, so it took nearly a year for it to reach him.  By that point, Zeke was entirely in control.  To an outsider, he probably appeared no more powerful than a lesser god, and yet, with a thought, he could unmake anyone or anything he desired.

The lone exception was Shar Maelaine, but he felt secure in his ability to destroy her when the time came.  He just needed the opportunity.

Finally, Zeke saw the vessel arrive.  It looked a lot like the Mercury, though built for a single person to operate.  He felt Talia’s power before he laid eyes on her.  The threads flexed around her in a way he didn’t expect.  It was as if her very presence altered reality – which was sort of the truth of it, given what Zeke now knew about the nature of the universe. 

As she approached, Zeke summoned every ounce of control he could muster.  With all of his practice, he instinctively kept the threads under wraps, but he’d not encountered another person, so he couldn’t be certain that it would remain that way in Talia’s presence. 

Talia brought her ship to a halt only a few dozen feet away, then stepped up to the rail.  For a long time, she just stared at him.  Then, at last, she said, “You’re naked.”

Zeke felt the threads flex, but he kept them under control.  He didn’t really have organs or a heart.  Not anymore.  Instead, his rebuilt body was just a vessel for his will.  That was why he hadn’t even considered food, water, or rest.  Those things just weren’t necessary for him anymore.

“I see,” Zeke said.  Then, with a subtle manipulation of the threads, he conjured a set of clothing.  It wrapped itself around his body, though it didn’t fit particularly well.  He could create things, but he wasn’t particularly skilled at doing so.  Especially on short notice. 

“It wasn’t a complaint,” she pointed out. 

“Oh.”

“Why haven’t you come home?”

“It wasn’t safe,” Zeke answered.  Then, he explained himself as fully as he could.  He knew that he lost her during the description of the threads – no one wanted to believe that their entire existence could be summed up in a few strings of energy – but she understood most of what he described.  He ended with, “I wanted to return, but I didn’t dare chance it.  Not until I was certain.”

“And are you?”

“What?”

“Certain.”

“Not really,” Zeke admitted.  He was terrified that he’d lose control, and someone else would be forced to pay the price.  It was odd, knowing that he didn’t much care if his actions resulted in the deaths of billions, but worrying instead about a handful of people he considered his friends.  Odder still was the certainty that they too were just collections of threads.

Sure, there were those glowing strings at the center of it all, but it was all still the same fundamental stuff.

“Are you ready to come home?”

Zeke regrettably shook his head.  “No.  Not yet.  But soon,” he said.  “Maybe a few more decades.”

She didn’t betray any of her emotions, but Zeke still knew she was disappointed.  “Very well,” Talia said.  “Then I will leave you to your training.  Don’t worry about us.  We will be fine.  And we’ll be there when you come back.  Just do what you must.”

“I…I will,” he said.

Then, Talia reversed her course and drifted away. Zeke stared after her for a long time, watching as the strings in the distance flexed and vibrated with her passage.  He desperately wanted to call her back, to go to her, to do something to keep the loneliness at bay. 

But then, even that faded.  And when he was once again alone, he returned to his solitary practice.