Tier 3+ - Accidental Champion (Book 7) - Chapter 55 - True Death

Haroln Abdicas Vandeerink ran.

Though “ran” perhaps wasn’t the right word when speaking of moving through different planes of existence, realities, and universes—it would be more accurate to say he fled. As fast as he ever had. He slipped from one place to another, moving through the void between realities, slipping in and out of spirit sanctuaries that went by so many different names depending on which corner of the multiverse he was in. He passed through more than a hundred Otherworlds, fifteen Afterworlds, a thousand Underworlds, a place called hell and a place called heaven—both of which appeared the same to his eyes. He travelled through more System versions than he cared to count, and even more universes.

No matter how far he fled, her gaze persisted.

Roln had done many impossible things, seen many impossible things, so he hesitated to tell himself that avoiding capture by the woman was impossible. But his mind wouldn’t let him see the task in any other way. Whether that was the reason he was ultimately caught or not, he didn’t know. When the woman finally reached him, he was in a universe as far from Xavier Collins’s universe as he’d ever been. He felt it the moment she arrived. Her authority overpowered him, locking him down, preventing him from leaving this universe. He could have kept running—kept fleeing—he may have been locked to this universe, but every universe was a big place. There were plenty of nooks and crannies to hide in.

Do I really want to spend my last moments running and hiding? Maybe there is another way out of this mess… Maybe this doesn’t have to be my end…

Thus Haroln “Roln” Abdicas Vandeerink the Wanderer teleported to the outside of the type of establishment he’d been fond of for as long as he could remember. An old-style tavern. The world he’d ended up on had yet to be integrated by the System. By his measure, it would be another thousand years before it was. The inhabitants of this world were some sort of demonkin-elven hybrid he hadn’t seen before. Some might think it unusual for Roln, a Wanderer, to encounter something new, considering how long he’d been around—but that would simply show a limitation in their thinking.

The multiverse was vaster than comprehension. There always was and always would be something new out there.

Like the version of Xavier Collins I just witnessed.

Roln smoothly altered his appearance as he walked to tavern’s large door. His round ears became pointed, and a horn grew on each side of his forehead. He made the horns a little longer and sharper than he’d seen the other men in this place have. He’d always been somewhat vain, a trait he’d never seen fit to discard.

Heads turned in observation of his entrance. Men’s brows furrowed, women’s eyebrows raised, but the patrons soon returned to their conversations with only the occasional furtive glance or appraising look coming his way. He’d picked this particular spot, being on a well-travelled road, knowing strangers weren’t unusual. Roln took a seat at the far corner of the tavern where there were fewer lit candles and more empty space around him. One of the serving men bustled over. Roln ordered a mug of sweetened ale.

“Any food, Honoured?” the young serving man asked, eyes downcast.

Roln frowned, wondering briefly at what being called Honoured might mean and why this man thought that was what he was but wasn’t interested enough to find out. “I am expecting another to arrive soon and wouldn’t dare order on her behalf.”

“Of course.” The serving man’s lips quirked. “I know the type. Hell thrown if you do, Hell thrown if you don’t.” The words seemed to come habitually and he blushed. “I’ll fetch your ale, Honoured.” A swift dip of his horns and he bustled off..

He fears you.

Roln blinked. His heart skipped a beat at the sound of that voice so loud in his head.

Aren’t you going to join me? Somehow, Roln infused more confidence into his reply than he had, not that she wouldn’t be able to see through it.

Laying eyes on me would destroy these people’s minds. A pause. But I shall send a Guise to humour you. I know how stubborn you can be.

The tavern’s door opened. A slender-looking woman with slim, pointed horns made her way directly for him, catching more attention in her entrance than Roln had. Roln allowed himself a long look. He was still mortal, even now, and though this wasn’t her true form it was still something to behold.

Derrida reached Roln’s corner table and gave him a piercing look of displeasure that would have curdled any a man’s soul. “You stopped running.”

Roln motioned to the chair across from him. “Please, won’t you share a meal with me?”

“I haven’t eaten in a hundred billion years.”

Roln cocked his head to the side. “Truly?”

The woman sat. “It feels a pointless thing.”

“Perhaps.” Roln sighed theatrically. “But I hope you will not begrudge me a chance for a final meal.”

The woman’s eyes narrowed. “Your tricks are thinly veiled. They will not work on me. You devoted yourself to my faction. You gave an oath.”

Roln nodded. “Aye. That I did.”

The woman glanced about. “This world. We shouldn’t be here. Our mere presence—”

“Do not waste your breath.”

The glare he received made him almost regret interrupting the woman. “Did you ask me here to plead your case? The law is clear. You interfered with a protected universe.”

The serving man was standing stock still halfway between the bar and their table with Roln’s sweetened ale shaking in his hands.

“If you wish for our presence here to go unnoticed, perhaps act more naturally.” Roln waved the server over. “Order some food. You don’t have to eat it if it goes against your sensibilities.”

The woman’s entire demeanour shifted. A moment before she acted as though the others in the tavern didn’t exist. Now, she appeared as though she disdained them immensely. She spoke like a noble and didn’t so much as glance at the server as she ordered. The serving man looked pale the entire time.

When the man left, Roln sipped his ale. “Looks like he fears you now, too.”

“As it should be. Our horns show us as Honoured. Had you taken a moment to study the world you are on—” She shut her eyes. “Irrelevancies.” She opened her eyes and her gaze dipped to the tabletop. “You have disappointed me, Roln. The faith you have shown our cause over the years… I was to make you my second. You held a unique promise.”

Roln blinked. “I have never heard you sound so sincere.”

“I am always sincere. The law is clear. You have broken it. I do not need to hear a word from you for you to receive your punishment.”

Roln sipped the ale. The sweetness was a little too sharp for his tastes. In a fraction of a second, he pushed his will into the liquid and changed it into something else. A drink from his home. His first home.

He took another sip. Savoured it. “Yet I still live.”

The woman dipped her head, sharp horns pointing toward him. “Why did you do it? It goes against everything you stand for.” Her words were not angry. There wasn’t a hint of emotion in her voice. This wasn’t even her speaking, just a Guise, a clone she controlled. Yet he felt something strong behind what she said. Anger or sadness, he couldn’t place it—he never would have thought her capable of sadness in the past.

“I did it because it needed to be done.”

“You swore an oath. This isn’t what we do, Haroln.”

Roln raised his chin. He’d already come this far. What would be the harm in going further? “I believe the universe’s end is avoidable.” He raised a hand, forestalling her response. “I know you believe the same, but your methods…”

“Are law.”

Roln sighed. “And who makes the law in your Derrida, hmm? You do. You can change those laws.”

“They should not be changed.”

Roln nodded. “I did not think we would see eye to eye. That boy. Xavier Collins. That version of him. He is different. The most promising candidate we’ve ever seen. To let the Old Man save his life—”

“Is to let things run their natural course!”

Roln’s eyes widened. Anger. First the woman was visibly sincere, now visibly angry.

I guess she didn’t leave her emotions behind like I thought.

Roln allowed frustration to enter this voice. “The natural course of things isn’t enough!”

“You speak like a Maker. Would you become one of their ilk? Influencing entire universes, moulding them to your image. Is that the type of Wanderer you wish to be?”

“No. They are nothing more than spoiled children obsessed with their own power.”

“Then why act like them?”

Roln’s frustration mounted. He wasn’t sure how he’d expected this conversation to go, but this? This wasn’t it. He prevented himself from gripping the table. His fingers would have went straight through the wood. He placed the mug of ale down gently and stared at the woman across from him—one of the most powerful beings in the entire multiverse, strong enough to crush a whole universe with nothing more than the power of her will if she wished.

And here Roln sat, arguing with her.

“You are blinded by your ways. By your laws. There isn’t only one way. If nature ran its course, that man would have been stifled. Do you see what he’s become instead!” As Roln ran, he’d used his powers of observation to keep an eye on the young dragonkin. Even now he still watched. “The boy thrived! He turned the power around! Repaired his cores! None of that would have happened if the chance was taken from him. He wouldn’t have pushed. He wouldn’t have been able to.” He sighed. “Derrida. You must see that. Your way isn’t the only way.”

Derrida looked sad. “You think you are wise, Haroln Abdicas Vandeerink? Wiser than me? There have been many to think there are other ways. I once thought as you do. That there was another way. I wasn’t alone, either.” She blinked slowly. “You know what happened to the others.”

Roln grabbed his ale but did not sip. “This is different.” He looked down at the dark liquid. “He might be the one.”

Derrida did not reply. She stared at him for a long time. Silence settled over their table. The serving man came, placed their food in front of them, then scurried off without a word. The silence stretched until Roln raised an eyebrow.

“So, are you to kill me before or after the meal?”

“We are being watched, you know.”

He nodded. “I feel the eyes of the faction.”

“Not only the faction.”

Roln took a moment to check. He hadn’t been focusing on anything but her observation on him, but he’d felt the others of his own faction out there. Their energy signatures were familiar. He didn’t need to try to sense them to know they watched. As he expanded his senses, however, he was able to see not only the eyes of his faction, but more. Many more.

The eyes of every other Wanderer faction were on them. On him. Not every member of every faction—but from his count it was at least one Wanderer from each.

“They watch for weakness. For discord.” Derrida looked down at her food, though she did not touch it.

Roln blinked. Shook his head. “What do their eyes matter to me?”

“I cannot be lenient, Roln. Not with everyone watching. They must see you pay for your crime. Eat your food. Take your time. Then you will face your fate.”

Roln stared at Derrida. He had thought to plead his case in front of her. Thought this conversation would go differently. But he knew he’d been lying to himself. The second he’d taken action, the consequences became inevitable.

Roln grabbed a knife and fork and began eating from the plate. His mind was so distracted he didn’t register what it was he ate. He thought of retreating to his sanctuary. There, he could make time crawl so slow it would be like he lived another thousand years if he wished. More. A million.

More.

He could stretch time on and on and on, live countless lifetimes before he finished this meal.

But what would be the point? His life, since before he wandered, had been about one thing and one thing only. His death, at least, would be in service to that cause.

“It must be a full death, Haroln. A soul death. It is the only thing that will suffice,” Derrida said.

Roln was heartened to hear sadness in the woman’s voice. At least, a part of him was.

“Is this what you want? My death?”

“You think because I make the law I can change the law. Make an exception. You think your intention so pure it shouldn’t matter what you did. But I cannot make an exception for you. You know what such a thing would mean. We have never been the most popular faction amongst the Wanderers, and though it has been many years since there has been conflict among us, that is not a door that can ever be shut. Peace only lasts until it doesn’t.”

“They would try to change things,” Roln muttered. “They would enter your domain.”

“You know very well it isn’t my domain. I do not claim these universes for my own. I simply protect them.”

Roln sighed. “You know I’m right in what I did, don’t you? You have seen him.”

Derrida did not answer. Instead, she leant over the table, reaching a hand toward him, placing it between their plates.

Roln had known Derrida for many years, but this was the longest conversation they’d had since he’d been sworn into her faction. It felt strange, wrong, that she was reaching out to him moments before she would give him a true death. And for all he knew about her, it was out of character, too.

He almost didn’t reciprocate. It would be easy to be petty. Easy to cross his arms and ignore her.

Yet he was curious…

Roln rested his hand atop hers in what looked like a familiar gesture and yet felt entirely alien. No System prompts came. There was nothing evident from the outside what was about to happen. The veils of the two beings were impenetrable.

The instant Roln touched the woman’s hand, he was transported. His physical body still sat on the hard, wooden chair in the tavern on the strange demonkin-elven hybrid world, but his mind apparition stood upon a sandy beach on an unfamiliar world. Bird calls sounded all about, coming from beasts with short bodies and long necks that walked along the sand, pecking the ground with their sharp beaks, pulling out what looked like snakes. Shouts could be heard from the water where small fishing boats drifted in the sea, the men and women tossed down nets with sharpened spikes.

The sky was purple, not a cloud to be seen, and the sun shone with a light so golden it didn’t seem real.

It isn’t real. I’m in Derrida’s mind.

To his left, the woman stood. She stared out at the boats. One in particular had an aging man and a small girl inside it. Roln peered at their features.

“That little girl is me,” Derrida said. “And that’s my grandfather.”

Roln blinked. “This is your home?”

“It was.” Derrida sighed. “You did the right thing.”

Roln startled at those words, looking at her. Never had he actually thought she might agree. “Truly?”

“That man. That dragonkin. You’re right—he is something else. Something unique. I have been watching him for some time now.” She stared back at him. “That Old Man would have ruined everything, but stopping him myself…” Her gaze dropped to the sand. “You did what I couldn’t.”

Roln gritted his teeth. “That doesn’t change anything, does it? You’re still going to sentence me to death.”

“Yes.” The woman smiled. He wasn’t sure he’d ever seen her smile. Though the woman before him was Derrida’s mind apparition, it was also her true form. The smile lit her up in a way he’d never before imagined. The fact that he was smiling at the prospect of his death—well, that made the smile as unsettling as it was beautiful. “And no.”

Roln frowned. “I’ve been around a long time, Derrida, and have come to understand many things… But forgive me if I have absolutely no clue what you mean.”

“I spoke the truth in the tavern. The risk of seeming weak, in faltering in my resolve, in the laws I set down so long ago… The other factions, they are tiring of us and the areas we claim. It is only a matter of time before they act. In the past, those actions have been petty ones. You have heard of the Seekers?”

“Seekers?” Roln shuddered. “I thought that faction was wiped out, back in the old times.”

Seekers had been merely legends long before Roln had become a Wanderer. They had been a faction of Wanderers who believed that universes should end. Not only that, but they also believed that the multiverse itself would one day come to an end—and that they were needed to ensure that came to pass.

Therefore, they believed that if a universe was ever saved, it would be a catastrophe instead of a miracle. The greatest blasphemy ever performed. When they existed, they hunted the strongest candidates that could save a universe—and they didn’t stop at killing those with potential, they destroyed their entire universe. Just to be “safe.”

“No faction can ever truly be wiped out, Roln. The multiverse is vast, and cycles repeat with each turn of wheel. I have heard whispers of them.” Derrida folded her hands in front of her and looked out to the ocean, at the small fishing boat with the old man and the little girl. “Indeed, I believe I’ve seen their actions even in the last billion years. I don’t believe their originators were ever stamped out. They hid. Those petty actions of the other factions? When we have been at war with them—”

“They’ve sought the candidates,” Roln breathed. “But… I thought that was merely out of spite. Our faction—we are the only Wanderers who believe saving the universe is possible.”

Derrida’s lips formed a thin line. “I do not think that is as true as it seems. This Xavier Collins… He has drawn more attention than any other candidate I can remember for a long, long time. Wars have been fought for the protection of candidates in the past, well before my faction was even necessary, before the birth of the first System. I believe such wars will be fought again for this man, but we are not ready to fight them.”

“And what I did… You believe it could spark a war early? If my actions are not… punished?”

Derrida tilted her head up. The purple of the sky was reflected in her eyes. The golden sun made her features shine. “Oh, I believe such a thing is too late to stop. Your death will be but a delay. I do not know if it will give us enough time to prepare…”

“It must!” Roln fell to his knees, hung his head. “Else I die for nothing. If my death serves as a delay, then so be it. It shall be my last act.”

Derrida placed a hand on his shoulder. “Oh, Roln. There are still things you can do.”

Roln still didn’t understand. She was speaking of his death as though it were a certainty. But before, she had said… “What did you mean, when you said ‘And no’?” He gazed up at her radiant face. “You said my death must be a true death. Not even my spirit will live on.”

“In most ways, it will be a true death. The man you are now will cease to exist. Your soul will be gone.”

Roln shook his head. “I have never known you to speak in contradictions. Without my soul there is nothing.”

Derrida tilted her head to the side. “Perhaps.” A roar sounded across the water, followed by a scream—a scream of a little girl. Something large and monstrous had emerged from the deep, a net curled around one of its tentacles, green blood pouring from several wounds. Another of those tentacles had grabbed someone off one the small fishing boats.

Derrida’s grandfather.

“Perhaps not.”

This is more than her mind sanctuary… This is a memory.

The terror in that scream intensified as the old man was pulled overboard. The little girl clung to the side of the boat, staring in fear at the bubbles coming to the surface. The bubbles stopped. Her scream stopped.

“After death something always remains, even if just a memory in the mind of a little girl.” The other fishing boats made there way to the one with the young girl. “Memories are powerful things. They can change the course of a life, a world, a universe…” Derrida moved her hand from Roln’s shoulder to his head. “You have broken the rules of our faction. Altered the fate of an entire universe with your interference. For this, I regret that I must sentence you to death. But rules and laws aside, you have done a thing that is good. Your death will be in the service of good—and so will what remains of you. The universe you altered will stay under my protection, and the protection of my faction. But now that its true course has been tainted… one more alteration, I believe, is in order.”

Roln did not know what Derrida the Wanderer meant.

On his knees, he lowered his head and stared at the sand. In the tavern, his physical body remained sitting on the chair, hand reaching over the table to touch Derrida’s. Not a second had passed in the real world.

After his long, long life, Roln thought that if the end ever did come, he would be ready for it. He would be prepared.

He did not feel ready.

~

The energy that comprised both Haroln Abdicas Vandeerink’s living and immortal souls was destroyed. A true death. His spirit would not linger either in this plane or the next, nor would it inhabit the void between all things.

The woman felt regret at his demise. She did not lie when she had told him he would one day have been her second. Though the regret would linger for many years—perhaps the rest of her life—she knew she had done the only thing she could, and she knew that it was right.

His soul was not the only thing to be destroyed. With but a thought she turned his body to particle dust. Another thought and she had altered the memories of every being within the tavern to forget they had ever been there.

Her Guise flickered out of existence.

But inside that Guise she held onto something. Something she had taken from the man when they had touched. Something he had allowed her to take without even realising. In some places what she had taken might be called a mental construct. Hovering in the void outside the universe she had tracked Haroln Abdicas Vanderink to, Derrida touched a hand to the Guise that came to meet her and transferred its energy back into her channels and cores, grasping onto the mental construct the Guise had taken.

She quarantined the mental construct in her mind to avoid contamination.

Then, she got to work.