Chapter 726 - Disconnection

The Shattered Hold had survived, though it was a shadow of its former incarnation.  Part of that was because of the damage it had endured.  Deep cracks ran through the crystal surface, and huge chunks had calved from the main structure.  That, in turn, had exposed massive sections to the space beyond.  At present, those cavernous interiors were protected by transparent shields, but it was obvious that the population had been vastly reduced.

According to Oberon, many had been killed by the shockwave of the cube’s destruction.  Most had lived inside the Shattered Hold, but many others had simply been in the wrong part of the Shattered Belt.  Their ships had been destroyed alongside the asteroids they were meant to mine.  Even the wildlife, durable and deadly as it was, had succumbed.

A full third of the Shattered Belt was now simply gone.  More than half of the remaining asteroids had been negatively affected as well, with many of them breaking into smaller hunks of rock. 

The death toll was astronomical. 

Millions, at the very least.

Zeke found it difficult to care.  In the grand scheme of things, those people simply didn’t matter.  He knew that.  In a short time, they would be replaced by more just like them.  After all, their reality didn’t lack for population. 

However, there was a part of Zeke – the human part – that rebelled at that callous philosophy.  He wanted to grieve the victims of his actions.  He wanted to care.  To see them as the individuals they were.  But no matter how hard he tried, he found it to be an impossible task.  Whatever connection he’d once shared with the lesser beings that comprised the realm’s population, it had faded significantly, and to the point where it barely even existed.

Zeke wanted to mourn that loss as well.

However, he couldn’t force himself to grieve.  The fact was that he’d never known any of those people, so to him, they were just numbers.  Faceless.  Inconsequential.  And what’s more, his belief in his own mission had grown even more concrete.  He knew that his actions were necessary.  Anything that got in the way of that was just a meaningless distraction, meant to be ignored or discarded.

But as much as he wanted to divorce himself from his own mortal thoughts, he found himself looking forward to his reunion with his friends.  With Talia and Tucker, Pudge and even Jasper.  The kobolds occupied a different place in his heart, but they were there all the same. 

So it was with some excitement that he approached the Shattered Hold.  Oberon’s tree was even more secure than the Mercury, and it surrounded Zeke with comfortable warmth and vitality.  If he focused, he could see the strings underlying the expression of the dwarf’s power. 

Looking even closer, he could see the threads upon which Oberon himself had been built.  Doing so gave him a sense of vertigo – not physical, but mental – and he had trouble accepting that everything was not just connected, but made of the same stuff.  And what’s more, it would only take a single plucked thread to change everything. 

He could unravel his patron with only a little work. 

Of course, the threads that made up Oberon were far more tightly woven than even the tree’s.  They also seemed quantitatively different, almost as if they were made of finer material.  The difference between a wool thread and one made of silk, Zeke reasoned.  Though he was no weaver, so most of that comparison was based on assumptions. 

In any case, he shook his head, clearing his focus.  Looking so closely felt both right and wrong at the same time, and he endure the confliction for so long before it began to overwhelm him.  Instead, he looked at the Shattered Hold.

“Do you know how many died?” he asked.

Oberon shook his head.  “No one bothered to count,” he admitted.  “In this settlement?  At least a few hundred thousand.  Many more within the belt.”

“What was it like?”

“It was as if they were simply torn from existence,” Oberon answered.  “The lucky ones, at least.  The others suffocated in the vacuum of space.  A slow process for people of their power, but with no one around to help…”

Zeke could imagine that well enough.  For his part, he had nothing to fear from the lack of atmosphere.  Neither did Oberon.  But lesser gods were not immortal.  They were not immune to the effects of their surroundings, and eventually, they would succumb.  Those natives who hadn’t even reached lesser god status were killed practically instantly, he was certain.

All because of Zeke.

The evidence was in his status:

Name

Ezekiel Blackwood

Class

Primordial (Eminent)

Race

Titan (S)

Core

Divine (S)

Body

Divine (S)

Energy

Divine (A-5)

Affinity

Divine (S)

He’d yet to reach the sovereign stage of his class, but he’d begun to care about that less and less.  It was all just threads.  One after another, bound so densely together that it looked solid.  It wasn’t.  And that included his status.  There was a part of him that believed he could simply manipulate it to say whatever he wanted. 

However, he also knew from his recent experiences that nothing he did created those threads.  Instead, he manipulated what was already there.  He took more from the people he killed, adding them to his own.  But he’d never created anything new. 

Perhaps that was a fundamental truth of his reality.  Noone could create threads.  They could simply be moved from one place to another. 

Zeke wasn’t certain about that, but it sounded right.  Almost like physics, which he’d never gotten around to understanding.  He didn’t believe it was the time to start worrying about that sort of thing. 

The tree floated closer to the still-giant hunk of crystal that was the Shattered Hold.  The strings comprising it were even more densely packed than Oberon’s.  Indeed, it reminded him of the cube itself, though it lacked the same corrosive properties.  Until recently, he’d been incapable of seeing the threads so clearly, but in retrospect, he knew that even that effect was just the result of more threads.

He sighed.

Seeing the underpinnings of reality was exhausting and the conceptualization of existence robbed him of something important.  Something ephemeral that he couldn’t quite pin down.

Either way, Zeke forced himself to ignore them as the tree approached one of the openings in the crystal structure, eventually docking.  After he and Oberon disembarked, the tree disappeared.  Or to Zeke’s senses, the threads unraveled and returned to Oberon’s mass. 

“Where are the others?” he asked.

“In the city.  The Mercury is still docked here,” Oberon answered.  “Once we’ve gathered them, I suggest we return to the tower.  Things in the Shattered Hold are not as peaceful as they once were.”

Zeke nodded.

And as they entered the main chamber, he saw that many of the bridges had been broken.  Given that his introduction to the settlement had included tales of how unbreakable it all was, that was quite a surprise – at least until Zeke remembered that it was all made of those same threads.  And even if it took a while, he could unravel any tangle of strings.

He sighed.

“What is it?” Oberon asked.

“Do you see them?” Zeke asked in return.  “The strings, I mean.”

“Ah.”

Zeke waited for the dwarf to continue, but he remained silent for a few minutes as they traversed the delicate bridge.  Along the way, Zeke saw just how surly the residents of the Shattered Hold were.  Lawlessness was the rule, rather than an exception, and he witnessed three brawls during the short trip.  One unlucky ruffian even attacked Zeke, only to find himself plummeting over the edge a second later.

Finally, Oberon answered, “I don’t see them.  I’m aware that they’re there, though.  I had thought you still had some time before you were confronted by that…truth.  If I’d known you were so close, I might have tried to prepare you, such as I was able.”

“What are they?”  

Oberon shrugged.  “Some say they’re the Framework.  Others believe that we’re all just puppets being controlled by the Creator.”

“What do you believe?”

“That everything can be broken down to component parts,” Oberon answered.  “Reality included.  I believe that, should you continue to progress, you might just see what those threads are made of.  And perhaps even what those even smaller bits are.”

“When does it stop?”

“That is beyond me,” Oberon admitted.  “I have done some research on it.  Learned gods, all with far more knowledge than me, attempted to cure my ignorance.  But the fact is that most of it is theoretical.  Only a scattered few will ever perceive those threads, even with proper equipment.  As far as I know, only you can see them unaided.”

He sighed again.  “I was young, once.  I had everything in front of me.  A freshly christened greater god,” he said.  “My flock was strong, my worshipers devout.  Much has changed since then, but in those days, I was certain I was the second coming of the Creator.  I was wrong.

“We all go through something similar,” Oberon continued.  “In our defense, everything we’ve experienced has led us to believe we are special.  And we are.  Becoming a greater god is no easy feat.  You don’t need to be told that much.  But in the end, we are just more pieces on the board.  Threads in the endless tapestry of reality.  I am not unique.  Neither is Shar Maelaine.  Nor Aja or Oda.  Special, certainly.  But far from unique.  When I am gone, another greater god will rise in my place.  Such is the way of the Framework.  It is its purpose.”

The dwarf was oddly complacent about the subject of his own demise.  With every passing day, Oberon withered a little more.  Soon, he would fade away entirely.  Yet, he seemed at peace with the idea. 

It was an alien concept to Zeke.  He’d never met a situation he didn’t want to overcome, and the notion of simply giving up – as it seemed with Oberon – was anathema to him. 

Yet, what Oberon said was true.  The Framework had been built – at least as far as he could tell – in order to usher people to power.  When Oberon fell, another would rise.  Perhaps not immediately, but eventually, someone would take his place.  The same was true of all the other greater gods.  After all, there were plenty of candidates out there, each one working every day to grow more powerful.  Some would inevitably succeed.

Such was the cyclical nature of their reality.

But it all seemed so constrictive to Zeke.  Once, he’d looked at the world with wonder in his heart.  So many incredible sights.  He still carried those memories with him, but in retrospect, it all seemed so small.  So inconsequential, except as building blocks for the creature he’d become.

Now, the bounds of reality felt like a cage.  He yearned to know what was on the other side of the Framework.  He feared it, too.  But mostly, he just wanted to feel that same wonder again.  To climb another peak.  To reach another milestone.  However, it felt increasingly obvious that he was rapidly approaching the end of it all. 

The summit beckoned. 

Zeke just wasn’t certain that he was strong enough to endure the accomplishment of his own goals.  He hoped so, but there were no guarantees in life. 

Those thoughts occupied his mind as he and Oberon traversed the bridge and entered the settlement at the center of the chamber.  It was just as impressive as before, with its monumental buildings and haphazard paths.  However, the population had clearly suffered, as the streets were very nearly empty.  There was also an atmosphere of abandonment that hung over everything.

To call it a sad sight would have been an understatement, and Zeke couldn’t help but hope that, sometime in the near future, the crowds would return.

For now, though, he and Oberon quickly made their way to an inn, where he finally saw his friends sitting around a table, pretending to play cards.  None of them were paying attention to the game, though.  They knew where Oberon had gone, and they were on pins and needles as to Zeke’s fate.

Never was that more obvious than when Talia launched herself to her feet and leaped into his arms. 

But even as she kissed him, he couldn’t help but notice the threads comprising her existence.