Chapter 47: Lightless

Chapter 47: Lightless

The mist in the realm recoiled as Mo Fei stepped forward. The mask on his face gleamed, silver thread glowing in the dim light. His hands held the haft. The avatar itself didn’t step back; it didn’t flinch. It prepared, waiting for the right moment.

Mo Fei exhaled a steady plume of breath. He raised his Glaive, the blade catching the pale light. The mimic’s golden eyes flickered.

Clang!

Both of them adjusted their feet as their Glaive collided; the impact travelled through Mo Fei’s arms, teeth rattling, his hands heavy. Mo Fei whispered, "You can’t be me." He hissed through the mask.

Mimic’s lips twisted into something different in a hollow half wrong curve. "You think your words will save you?"

"I’d not mind if they did." Mo Fei threw his weight forward, driving the mimic’s back toward a broken pillar. The mask hummed, but the silver threads around the avatar remained half gray. "But your words won’t even remind me of your existence!"

The mimic let out a hiss, its legs sliding across the floor. With a flick of its wrist, the mimic turned its Glaive, Mo Fei’s one hand slipping from the haft. The avatar’s blade swept upward, a silver blur aimed for Mo Fei’s throat.

Mo Fei didn’t block; he couldn’t. He stepped into the strike.

The blade bit into his side, glancing, but not too deep. Yet, the pain flared, hot and immediate. He ignored the pain, and shot his hand forward. His fingers closed around the haft, yanking it toward him. Then he bent down and swept his leg out. As the mimic tripped, using the momentum, Mo Fei quickly positioned himself before smashing his fist into its face. Then the avatar stepped back further, finally getting the moment.

Before the avatar could recover, Mo Fei spun. His Glaive sang through the air.

The mimic’s eyes widened; it still couldn’t understand. The blade craved a deep arc through its chest. Mo Fei rotated the Glaive. The other blade closed the distance, slashing the chin of the mimic.

Mist erupted from the wounds like fire.

The avatar’s finger traced the wound in horror. Its eyes followed Mo Fei, who was inhaling the air.

"The mask has increased your precision..." It stated before holding its ground. Mo Fei swung his Glaive at the silver threads, the blade slashing one of the four threads.

The avatar’s feet stopped for a moment. It couldn’t move, but he gave it no moment to breathe; then he surged behind it for the second thread. The mimic’s body moved, just in time. Its hand caught the Glaive before it could slash. "You aren’t doing that–"

Mo Fei kicked the mimic between the legs and pushed him backward. The mimic’s breath caught in its throat and stumbled, and then Mo Fei came behind him.

Slash!

Another thread snapped, drifting to the ground slowly.

Two left.

Mo Fei jumped back, looking at the avatar. It grunted, cursing under its breath, and said, "You really don’t know a fair fight." The mimic spat, its movement going more frantic.

Mo Fei countered, "I’m not playing with rules. What do you think I’d rather fight for eternity? Of course not, beside that you can’t be the one saying that." As Mo Fei said that, he jumped twice before running toward the avatar.

The mimic lunged back; the blood moved freely. Its Glaive radiating a dull light, then they hit together. The weapons cried, like not literally, but as if they screamed for them—for their arms and legs. Both of them exchanged blows. Mo Fei’s eyes darted, following every swing.

He retreated slowly as the relentless strikes pushed him. The mimic’s movement increased, speed coming back.

"Tch," Mo Fei jumped back, taking a safe distance. "It’s still faster than me. I’m not a professional fighter either." Lin had taught him how to use the Glaive, but he wasn’t too good at it. In just a few weeks, of course, he couldn’t.

Mo Fei heaved, looking at the avatar. The silver threads were flowing in the air, like silk strings in the air.

Only two.

Mo Fei paused. "Every time I did something stupid. It couldn’t defend, it’s made for perfection then..." Mo Fei lowered his Glaive. "No, if it were the case, then it should have been defended, then... can it only choose from my overwhelming emotions? But not from a foolish one."

Mo Fei narrowed his eyes, then his hand rose for his mask. He pressed his finger on the mask. For a moment his fingers stopped forcing, but then he pulled the mask off his face.

"Only if this works."

He held the mask tight, darting his eyes around. The avatar stopped to look at him. It glanced at Mo Fei’s mask, confused.

Mo Fei took steps back. "You are kinda maskless; how about I give you this?"

The avatar’s eyes widened; it stared at the mask in surprise. Why? Why would he give that? "You are idiotic; what could you possibly get from that?"

"Hm? Do you want me to change my mind?" Mo Fei pulled his hand back, then, with full force, he threw the mask at him.

The mimic, still shocked by this, quickly reached out its hands toward the mask. It closed the distance, and just as it reached toward it. Mo Fei’s lips curled in a smug smile. His silver threads flared, and he pulled the mask using the threads.

The avatar’s finger closed into a fist, grasping nothing but empty mist. Mo Fei rushed behind him. The mimic tried to recover from confusion.

Slash!

His Glaive swung, chopping another thread. The avatar’s body shook; it held its chest tightly. Mo Fei’s Glaive moved free toward its back. His one hand left the haft, the other slashing its back in haste. Then Mo Fei thrashed his shoulder on its back, felling him onto the surface with a heavy thud. He then smacked his leg on the ground, and the mist around the ground cleared.

"Oh? That asspull you did... I returned that favor." His left wrist turned, and the threads pulled the mask on his hand. He clenched it, and then.

Swoosh!

He stabbed the Glaive’s lower blade into its back. The mimic gasped, trying to breathe. Mo Fei pulled the Glaive before he spun, chopping the last thread.

The avatar coughed, struggling to breath. Then Mo Fei noticed the unusual behavior of its spirit.

"That... Presence." Mo Fei’s eyes locked onto the mimic’s body. "If I cut a thread of a spiritual being... Their spirit doesn’t die, but the Glaive drinks them." He squinted his eyes, considering his words. So did that mean the spirits he was supposed to carry were nothing more than the vengeful spirits... in a way, his enemies, or the Glaive’s enemies?

Mo Fei backed off. The avatar’s hands crawled on the ground, trying to grasp something before they turned into smoke.

Mo Fei was frozen in the silence of the empty realm. The mimic had vanished, leaving something hollow in Mo Fei. Even if the mimic wasn’t him, yet it wore his face. That same face used to be terrified of the world. That still was, but not as before. Somewhere in his mind he killed himself once again.

He pressed his lips together before turning around to see if the Serpent had returned.

The fight was over, yet he felt no fatigue. His breath even, the wounds closing. His one blind eye remained that way, though the skin knitted together where the Glaive had bit him.

No sound announced the victory. No sound came to confront either. He let go of the mask, but instead of falling, the mask floated again.

"Divine Serpent, if you are here, then answer."

Hisss

His ears straightened as he heard the hissing. His eyes fixated on the emerging figure of Serpent. It slowly curled on the throne, erupting from the mist and taking its shape.

Its golden reptilian eyes stared at Mo Fei. The Serpent didn’t congratulate him, nor did it acknowledge it as if it were already destined. Then the Serpent nodded; its tongue flickered. "Great Master, you’ve proven the realm belongs to you once again. Lord Lightless, I wish for you to become our God soon. Now, I hope for your blessings and your great journey."

Thud!

The Glaive fell from his hand. Mo Fei raised his hand, which was trembling. He looked at the Glaive, resting still on the surface.

"That’s it? What next?"

The Serpent shook its head, "Yes, nothing more. Now, I will serve you for eternity. Any questions you ask, I will answer... But." The Serpent paused, trying to feel his emotions.

"But?" Mo Fei gestured with his shaking hands.

The Serpent rose toward the endless sky. "But my memories have been fractured. I have forgotten almost everything. Only my instincts remained, but as long as you continue, I will try to gather everything you ask."

Mo Fei picked the Glaive up. The haft was warmer and heavier than before, or his arms were weaker. He stood there for a moment, not doing anything but only trying to understand it. Something in the realm felt emptier. He had won, but what did it mean?

Then finally the fatigue arrived, quietly but truly, like a debt finally collected. He took one step forward and stumbled, catching himself on the Glaive’s lower blade before hitting ground.

Then he looked up at the Serpent.

"Then answer me. Who is the creator of these worlds?" He began, "Who created this hell?!" He paused. "What is the purpose and how do I return?"

The Serpent went silent, its gaze lingering on the throne. "Great master. I wish I could answer these questions, but my memories have faded... though the creator was someone I knew. Someone I adored most. Someone I acknowledged." The Serpent stopped, looking at Mo Fei, whose brows furrowed.

Was he mistaken all along? He narrowed his eyes, recalling the forgotten words. The Serpent had proven it. His enemy was not the Architect.... But why had the chosen ones ascended? It was getting more tangled.

Then Mo Fei pushed another question. "Who is the Curator of Flesh? Why does he have a threadbinder artifact?"

The Serpent hissed, its tongue coming out of its mouth and quickly going back. "Great Master, I can answer this question. But ’He’ has a threadbinder artifact, meaning the whole realm could be in danger; any mention of his identity will be known by him."

"..." Mo Fei narrowed his eyes and then asked, "Then tell me what cannot be detected. What is the Cursed Womb truly?"

The Serpent nodded and answered, its voice serene and filled with a polite tone. "The Cursed Womb is the son of a Hanged God that had fallen millennia ago. ’He’ was the direct ruler of the ’Curator of Flesh’ Authority." The Serpent’s body wrapped on the throne tightly, then its grip on the throne slowly loosened.

"The God of this authority became corrupted, and then ’He’ was killed by some deities. Thus, ’He’ is trying to be reborn as ’His’ own son, because there has been no God of this authority yet, only two post-angels."

"Two post-angles?" Mo Fei asked. Post Angels? Something above a demigod?

The Serpent leaned its head closer. "Yes, they constantly seek to reach Godhood. That gave their God an opportunity to be born again. There are some authorities with only angels managing the sanity; they are praised in their respected authority."

Mo Fei nodded in understanding. "Now, how much time is left for the descent?"

"Two minutes." It simply answered.

Then the Serpent unwrapped its whole body from the throne. It crawled away toward a pillar, leaving the throne. There, Mo Fei saw it, something resting on the throne’s surface.

A beautiful crown. It was a crown of crystal thorns. There were five thorns, moving upward. Not just a crown, but also a symbol of sacrifice and a leader that must fall to darkness. How unfortunate that no God yet chose it. Then the Serpent’s voice echoed through the hallway.

"Lord Lightless, follow the path. Choose it, though I still won’t permit full control over the realm. Sooner or later this will be yours, but not yet."

Upon hearing that, Mo Fei’s face went pale. The crown he admired a while ago was a weight now. He took steps forward, walking toward the throne.

The realm whispered only one word. A word that had indescribable meanings.

"Lightless!"