The Jester of Apocalypse
Chapter 93: Reverence

Neave rarely, if ever, truly acted his age.

It was hard to say what his age even was, to begin with.

Was he eleven? Or did all the years stuck within the loop count? Who was to really say? Perhaps it depended on social interaction, maturity, and stuff that couldn’t be developed in total isolation—let alone in a horrid hell realm of infinite death and suffering.

Or perhaps, even more simply, it just depended on one’s biological age.

But if one went purely off behavior at that moment, Neave was genuinely acting like an eleven, nay, a five-year-old—bawling because his new toy didn’t work the way he hoped it would.

Violet Avatar was something special. Something he had placed many hopes on and something he truly believed would be a powerful weapon he could use.

After he evolved it to gold rank, the power did, in fact, acquire an incredible ability—possession. He could use the violet avatar to possess a corpse and manipulate it however he pleased.

It still worked the same in virtually all other ways. He had to consciously manipulate the dead body, so it wasn’t like necromancy. The possessed corpse could be stored in a special dimensional space, and any object it held would be taken with it.

The instant he realized what the power did, he immediately got what else but the best idea ever.

It was time to possess a slime and unlock the ultimate avatar, one that grew in power without limits and could evolve to perfectly suit his every need.

Yes, he would soon own the most incredible spirit power anyone had ever held!

Except he wouldn’t because he forgot one crucial detail.

Once a monster died, its core became entirely inert. This meant that a dead slime was little more than an unmoving pile of goo. Dead monsters could no longer evolve. Not a big deal, he thought, until he realized that it actually was, indeed, a pretty big fucking deal.

For example, if he did something like possess the corpse of a dragon, like the violet dragon he fought, he wouldn’t have access to itspuppets or any of its other powers. Everything from its supernatural strength, speed, dragon breath, and even the violet energy it used would be gone once it died.

There was also another critical issue with this power. The possession could only happen if the corpse were void of remnant spirit, which would only vacate the body well after the decomposition began.

Thankfully, this wasn’t a complete deal-breaker for him as he could simply purge the body by washing it out with liquid spirit. So he would at least avoid having to use a rotting body.

This did little to assuage the other problems, however.

Without the powers that drove them while alive, corpses were mostly useless. Say he used the dead body of a cultivator. Their spirit would be gone, so their cultivation, as well as any of their abilities, including their spirit powers, would also be gone. And the thing was, if he washed a body of the remnant spirit it had, that also removed all non-cultivation power it held.

At that point, the corpse might as well just be a useless puppet.

The power did have a technicality that still gave Neave hope. Once a corpse was possessed, outwardly, the body would visibly morph. The skin turned purple, and it glowed with an ominous light.

All of the details of the body would acquire a purple motif, and this wasn’t just a visual effect either. The power created a set of constructs that affected the function of different body parts.

Usually, it would compensate for any deterioration, but with his remnant spirit purge, it could maintain a body while still alive. There was still a possibility that it wasn’t useless, so it wasn’t like it was the end of the world. But that didn’t stop poor baby Neave from crying as if it were.

There was a simple reason why he wept. Yes, this ability did have a lot of potential, and the type of experimentation it permitted was right down his alley.

“But it's just such a fucking chore.” S~ᴇaʀᴄh the ɴøvᴇlFɪre.ɴet website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of nøvels early and in the highest quality.

This didn’t really add anything new to the power. It was already something that had a lot of potential for experimentation. This gave him more work to do when it, if he dared say, could have been more potent with a far lower effort requirement.

It could theoretically be as good, or better, than a more straightforward power, but only after a ton of work. He could use that time to dedicate it to the, you know, any of the countless other things he could still experiment with.

Once the shock of the evolution’s result wore off, he managed to calm himself.

It was okay. After all, he could still upgrade the power again. No big deal. There was still a chance that the upgrade would alter something fundamental and grant him a much better power.

So he sank into his spirit and evolved the power again.

No dragon made its way to the top of his mountain, which was a plus, so Neave maintained his optimism as he tried sleeping through the trial again.

Once he was out, his face remained placid.

Violet mist appeared on the ground before him.

Seven completely identical tiny puppets appeared. And absolutely nothing else of consequence about the power had changed.

His eyes teared up yet again.

***

Gabrias lurked through the caves, keeping his ears open for any sign of demons scurrying about.

For a long time, he heard nothing of note. Until he started hearing the cries.

"What… What is with that demonic wailing!?" He asked in a whisper.

It must have been the demons, he thought.

Rather than fear, Gabrias felt trepidation. Demons meant unique materials for his creations. Were they scary? Of course they were! However, he held the Glass Shard, the mythical weapon crafted by none other than Lord Neave himself.

Gabrias scoffed. Naturally, he would be fine. With a single swing, this mighty blade could cleave mountains. What could some slithery demon do to him?

However, as he approached the sound, his anxiety rapidly built up. This whole section of the cave was strange. Glass shrubs were everywhere, and Gabrias kept jolting, tricked by his reflection into thinking he saw movement in the shadows.

No problem, he thought. His eyes were that of someone on the bronze path. Darkness couldn’t hide things from him. So he would continue his journey bravely.

Eventually, he reached a massive room, with every inch of it overgrown by glass shrubs. Something was deeply off about this place. Gabrias wasn’t insane like those other lunatics. He didn’t merely imagine that something was watching him. He knew it.

And, sadly for him, he was right.

The Glass Shard flew out of his hand by itself, and Gabrias gaped. He tried catching the blade. It wasn’t flying particularly fast. In fact, it seemed to be wavering unsteadily as it floated through the air. He tried grasping it, but its chaotic trajectory made it a considerable challenge. He ran after it anyway, not giving up the chase. That was Lord Neave’s creation. If he lost it, he would never live the shame down.

A few seconds of clumsy fumbling later, he tripped and landed face-first on the ground. Lifting his head, he saw the sword fly into the hands of a glass puppet, and it raised it, pointing it at his head.

Wait… this was the glass puppet. Yet another of Lord Neave’s creations. How superb. That made him sigh in relief. Thank the heavens, he hadn’t lost the blade. It had merely been repossessed by another of Lord Neave’s servants.

He still felt a little sour, though. How would he hunt the demons now? There was little warrior’s pride in him; he knew he would be screwed in serious combat against… well… anything even remotely threatening.

Wait a minute… A genius idea had just popped into his mind!

He threw himself to the ground, prostrating before the glass puppet, "Oh, mighty Attendant of the Lord, please grant this humble servant a favor!"

The puppet slowly lowered the blade and cocked its head up.

The prostrated man continued, "Please, accompany me on a journey to purge this sacred realm of those impure demons that plague it!" He left the part about gathering leather for construction unsaid.

Perhaps a nobler goal may appeal more to the puppet.

It cocked its head, clearly unsure of what he was talking about.

With a single glance, he read its expression and asked, "Could it be… Do you not know of the corrupt demons that plague this realm?" It knew for sure, but a minor wound to its pride might work to convince it.

The creature reeled, shook its head, and wagged its index finger at him. Then, it straightened its posture, crossing its arms and opening the palm of its hand.

Its message was clear.

Who do you think I am? Of course I know who they are!

He lowered his head further and continued, "Of course, naturally,” he appeased, “forgive this little one’s disrespectful behavior! If you so wish, I will accept any punishment you deem fit!"

The puppet paused at that. Then it stepped over to Gabrias and softly kicked him a bit. It quickly walked back and raised its head even higher, obviously pleased with itself.

He kept appealing to the glass shrub and eventually followed as the puppet led the way.

They had demons to purge.

And, naturally, materials to gather!

A lovely leather couch sounded like precisely the thing he should present to Lord Neave.

***

Platinum path cultivators were highly influential members of society. Naturally, their power was the main reason why. For cultivators of the platinum path and beyond, the masses loved fantasizing about the fantastical feats they could perform.

One such fantasy was that they could perceive everything around them, even while fully asleep.

This was a myth, but only partially. Diamond path cultivators could do this. Platinum path cultivators couldn't. However, platinum path cultivators could still think, even when otherwise unconscious.

Quite convenient for someone who was constantly busy as Marven was back when he was a sect master. And, well, as busy as he was in the nightmare realm.

Marven was aware of the type of psychological challenges isolation could bring. Many cultivators left secluded cultivation with a shakier grasp on their sanity than before entering.

This realm, however, was on an entirely different level. The constant darkness, bone-piercing cold, and the uncertainty and terror of the outside made for a horrible environment for one’s sanity.

Frankly, they tolerated it quite well, but it never stopped chipping away at their sound minds, and over the gods knew how long had passed since they entered here, it had done much damage. Too much damage.

Worst of all was that all of them knew that they would eventually die inside this realm. Everyone knew that they would die, of course, but there was solace in at least knowing that one wouldn’t remember how they died.

Marven and the others didn’t have that privilege.

He had been confident at first. If alone, he could maintain his mental health just fine by following known principles when isolated.

While juggling the mental health of four others who had no idea how to do it?

There was simply no way.

Inside this nightmare realm, one didn’t feel ‘tired.’ One was either exhausted, anxious, or both. So when did one sleep? How did one keep track of a healthy sleep schedule when they couldn’t even keep track of time or rely on their body to do it for them?

They didn’t. They… just… didn’t.

Given that his hair had grown out to its full length and even had to be cut once, Marven knew that months had passed at the very least.

What the hell was his son doing, anyway? Why was it taking so long? And why was he avoiding talking to them?

The others were a wreck already; Harel looked ready to die from stress, and the others weren’t faring much better.

They were running out of time. Dying from insanity, either by suicide or otherwise, was a threat, but the even more significant threat was the long-term consequences this experience would leave on them once they left.

It was time, he decided. This constituted a severe crisis. It was time to go find his son.

With a pulse of will, he forced himself to wake up and—

Awoke in the main room of their base, naked, bald, and surrounded by the others, who had suffered the same fate.

… Yeah.

It might have already been too late.

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