The Harvester

“The Lost Era ended due to a series of disasters. As if fate had abandoned it, it was chipped away piece by piece until no life remained,” Hans began to recount. “Evidently, the casualty toll reached absurd numbers. Even if the population back then was not as high as today, the universe still housed countless civilizations.”

 

He flicked his finger toward the book he had summoned earlier and it was opened to the first page where a completely dark image was sprinkled with white spots. “All of that caused an unparalleled cluster of ‘death force’. Restless souls were despoiled and swallowed. The stronger ones became nuclei and consumed the others, along with more deathly energy.”

 

“Billions of dead souls would turn into one spirit,” he said and snapped his fingers. The white haze on the first page shifted to the second in real time and became silhouettes. “And thus, Phantasms were born.”

 

“So, that’s why Locura said their numbers were finite,” Nyx remarked with a thoughtful tone.

 

“Hm? But isn’t that a method that can still be replicated?” Kara asked curiously. “Obviously, there’d be requirements, but it is ultimately feasible.”

 

“You are looking at it from the wrong perspective,” Hans shook his head. “The situation that made them cannot be reproduced. Shall I remind you that they are made of souls of the Lost Era? During those times, the Original World Laws, as you know them today, did not exist.”

 

“Magic Circuits were nonexistent and mana was something you would breathe in like air. The lives composing the Phantasms are much different compared to the patterns of this ‘Era’. And that is not an environment that can ever be simulated.”

 

Rakna mused. “But what led them to create the System?”

 

Hans let out a snort. “You are jumping the gun, Xiorra. First of all, Phantasms remained in a coma for the first billion or so years of their existence. This was because of one simple fact. Amalgamated dead souls are nonetheless dead. And since ‘Existence’ itself had fallen to ruin, there was nothing to animate them.”

 

“However, soon came along the Original Creators,” the azure-haired boy said as he flipped the next pages to show two silhouettes that resembled golems, one black and the other white. “Their names were Slanderer and Prayer respectively. Some of you might have heard of them; they are known to be the creatures who created Realities as we know them today. In other words, they created a new iteration of ‘Existence’ from scratch after the fall of the Lost Era.”

 

“That’s how it was…?” Nyx furrowed her eyebrows. “The Original Creators were never a secret to anyone outside of the System but… considering you prefaced that by mentioning the Lost Era, does it mean that they have something to do with it?”

 

Hans nodded and waved at the drawings. “Do they not look like golems? Artificial? The reason they appear so is because they are. Slanderer and Prayer were a last-attempt effort put together by one almighty being all of you have heard of; Yahweh.”

 

The name spurred a series of astonished expressions in the room. “W-wait a minute,” Caer raised his voice first, his squinted eyes opening in disbelief. “You mean… that the Primeval God of All we know of… lived before our current Era?”

 

“Yes,” Hans nodded simply. “Why is it so shocking to you?”

 

“Well…”

 

“In the first place, Yahweh never was a God. The concept of Divinity did not even exist in the times of the Lost Era. People called him the Almighty One. But sadly, even he failed to stop the ‘End’. This is something I’ve been told by… the owner of a certain Realm,” he said, glossing over who that was exactly on purpose. “She watched it all happen.”

 

“At the time, Yahweh saw that all life would cease to exist. He realized that if he did not intervene somehow, Existence would eternally remain a lifeless void. Thus, burning his life force until only a spark remained, he created two things; the Original Creators and the Spiritual Tree.”

 

“Uh…?” Nyx blinked in shock. “Someone… made the Spiritual Tree? The elusive center of Existence that dictates the birth of Realities and Myths? That Spiritual Tree?”

 

Hans rolled his eyes. “Yes. The very same.”

 

“Is that even possible for one being to make?” Astraea, the only other Goddess in the room, shared her brethren’s disbelief. “But… Egregore grows from the roots of the Spiritual Tree! Are you saying that he created our Realm as well?!”

 

The author sighed blearily. “Quiet down,” he grunted. “The Spiritual Tree is indeed his creation no matter how unbelievable you deem it to be. What you ought to know instead, is that he planted the sprout of the Tree whilst linking it to all the Realms.”

 

Astraea widened her eyes.

 

“It is not that Egregore was born from the Tree, but that the latter grew on the former. Using the power of the Major Realms was Yahweh’s only chance to engender something powerful enough to recreate a semblance of life. You could say the Spiritual Tree itself is a self-contained Realm. It took a billion years for it to grow old enough to start its duties. It had been fed information and stories directly from the Realms and Yahweh himself.”

 

Hans glanced over the room. “Many of the popular myths you know of originally occurred during the Lost Era and were re-enacted later on in the New Era, birthing legends.”

 

“From that point onward, it snowballed,” he continued and flipped the pages of his book. “After the sprout was finally done growing, the Original Creators were awakened. From then on, they began to enact their ‘programming’.”

 

The book showed a large tree, shining like glass and crowned with white leaves. “Using the power of the Spiritual Tree, they created World Laws to set a stable environment for life to bloom. Which was quickly followed by the first Mother Reality.”

 

“It was roughly then that Phantasms first showed signs of awakening,” Hans stated, bringing the topic back to the beginning and grabbing everyone’s attention. “The first Mother Reality had no such thing as ‘time’ and only a few extremely mighty races were born in those conditions.”

 

He waved at the book and showed the next page split into four cases depicting a different creature each. “Tiamat, Mother of Twilight. Ra-Horakhty, Phoenix God-King. Acuran, World Devourer. And Timaiyin-Munti, The Archfiend.”

 

“So, ‘Horsey’ did have a name…” Allan mumbled in the background.

 

“You only require to focus on one of them,” Hans pressed on. “Ra-Horakhty. He is the progenitor of all Phoenixes. And as his faction grew, their ‘Ash Fire’, that burned death itself to revive them from cinders, eventually awakened the Phantasms due to the sheer conceptual threat.”

 

The next set of book pages depicted white silhouettes fighting blazing birds. “A premature war was initiated between the two. The Phoenixes did not just represent a risk; they were a genuine danger to the continued existence of the Phantasms. In a Reality where the rules had yet to be fully fleshed out, a clash of Existentiality could decimate the Phantasms.”

 

“Not to mention, barely awakened and uncertain of their situation, they were forced to pour their all into self-preservation,” Hans said and idly started cleaning his glasses. “The war lasted a while and within that period, the Broken Depths was founded. An innermost association led by the Royal Phantasms whose only goal was the guaranteed survival of Phantasms.”

 

“At first, they sought a countermeasure to the Phoenixes. But the war ended thanks to the Spiritual Tree’s intervention, which created a conceptual barrier between the two races, while the Original Creators also established the last fundamental World Laws.”

 

“But…” Hans narrowed his eyes. “With that, the River of Time began flowing once again on the ‘soil’ of the Spiritual Tree. The Phantasms were faced with another threat; they began to decay.”

 

“Decay?” Rakna interjected for the first time; intrigued by the word choice.

 

“Ah… I see,” on the other hand, Nyx seemed to understand something. “They decayed… not only in one way but two, didn’t they?” She said with an almost concerned expression.

 

Hans eyed her and nodded slowly. “First of all, the only concrete anchor of a Phantasm’s life fully lies in their nucleus. The rest are amalgamated souls. Crudely said, it is as if they wear the dead as armor. Such a thing comes with one demerit; the souls do not possess permanency. Without a body to rely on, they have no protection from time and the world. They gradually eroded.”

 

“The early days of the Broken Depths were quite upright all things considered,” he closed his eyes with a hum. “They purely wished to live, carrying with them the legacy of the past. Obviously, their first and most promising idea was simply to possess the body of a physical being. But when they realized that possessing corpses did not work, they refused to hijack living ones.”

 

“They still had time before the erosion became fatal, so they decided to research other methods in the meantime. However, cruelly for them, the second head of the issue reared up. The two types of decay they went through; one is for what they are, and the other… is for who they are.”

 

Again, the book was flipped on its own and the two subsequent pages felt mirrored. Both depicted some kind of bubble and each was filled with light. The first was entirely green while the second was blue, but in the latter, tiny green spots seemed to be mixed in.

 

“The left circle is the Lost Era, and the right one is our current Existence,” Hans explained. “Both have different colors signifying the drastic difference in both ‘structure’ and ‘law’. And as you see, there are some intruders in the blue. Within the foreign light, what will happen to them?”

 

“They’ll get swallowed?” Higure mused out loud.

 

“Worse,” Hans snickered. “Surrounded, smothered, persecuted, and pushed back until the source of the anomalous light is doused. That is how Phantasms live in a world that is not theirs. To them, this translates into a corruption that violates their core being. Over time, the blended ‘memories’ and ‘emotions’ that compose them rampage and collapse.”

 

“Some fall to madness, others die, a few kill themselves, and the strongest ones somewhat manage to harness the corruption into power,” Hans flicked a finger at the book, and a graphite illustration of the three Espectros they had seen earlier was revealed. “The Espectros are known to represent specific ‘Aspects of Madness’. The ones you saw today are Insanity, Solitude, and Fear.”

 

“All of this to say that Phantasms were reduced to the pariahs of Existence,” Hans huffed. “There is no saving grace for them. Their life is on a countdown and their sense of self is on a tightrope. The attempts to stop the erosion left way for fear of corruption. Over time, they eventually turned to taking over humans. But even if it stopped the erosion, it did not stop the corruption.”

 

“Some went as far as consuming souls in the hope of ‘healing themselves’. Unfortunately, souls that do not share their origin are merely poison to them. It only accelerates the process. However,” the boy scoffed. “Souls of the same ilk as themselves worked well.”

 

More than a few people in the room widened their eyes at the implication.

 

“To survive until today, the Phantasms turned to cannibalism,” Hans said. “Those who fell prey to madness would be used as food for the others. Now, that is where the ‘desperation’ finally kicked in. Dying, unable to reproduce, losing their minds… it is enough to start pursuing ‘miracles’.”

 

“The conclusion they came to in the end was that if they cannot adapt to the world, then they will make the world adapt to them instead,” he smirked at everyone. “Logical idea, no?”

 

“Logical, my ass,” Zialtra went along with his sarcasm with a scowl. 

 

“So, that’s the point of the System?” Caer tilted his head. “To alter ‘Existence’ itself?”

 

“Yes and no,” Hans shrugged. “Systema was not even their first course of action. The only goal they had before even that has always been… the ‘Realm Synchronization’. To return Existence to how it once was in the Lost Era. To pick up the pieces… and mesh them together back into one.”