The Jester of Apocalypse

Nostalgic.

Neave had the first thought for an entire day. Exactly how he knew a day had passed was simple. This time, he did have a literal hourglass to check, and the last grain of sand had just rolled into the bottom chamber.

Ever since he left the loop, he hadn’t even once grown so dissociated—until now.

Neave decided to let his mind clear for precisely a day. Under the influence of his enhanced cognitive abilities and spirit power working full throttle, the last day felt like months. Months he needed to cool off and just not think about it.

Could he have used the mysterious realm for this purpose? No. Absolutely not. Neave was still highly hesitant about going back in there. Avoiding it forever wasn’t an option, though. Eventually, he would have to go to sleep, or he risked dying from a lack thereof. He still wanted to postpone his visit as long as he could.

Why?

It was simple. One of the thoughts he was fully confident had come from the mind manipulation had urged Neave to go to the underground chamber. There was never an instance where he was being coerced explicitly into going into the realm itself, though, which was the only reason he was even considering returning in the first place.

At least, not any instance he could clearly identify as not being his own thoughts.

He had lost confidence in telling his thoughts apart from the manipulation, but the rest day helped.

He definitely wouldn’t have any more… ÞÞÞÞÞÞÞÞ

…

Neave grinned.

“Nice try.” He clapped a few times. Although the appearance of the manipulation should have ruined his mood, Neave felt the opposite. It tried manipulating him, yet he discovered it and stopped it on time. However slight, Neave felt he had regained at least some agency over his mind.

Now it was time for Neave to properly consider the way he thought. There was a lot of work ahead of him, separating his genuine opinions from what he developed under foreign influence.

It wasn’t going to be straightforward. What if there were things he potentially agreed on with whoever was trying to manipulate him? That wasn’t an impossibility. There was also the possibility of some of his genuine opinions only developing after other parts of his thoughts were manipulated. What then?

A lot of work had to be done, and he didn’t fully trust in doing it himself.

He needed somebody else to bounce his thoughts off. This had little to do with foreign influence and more with his true beliefs. How much of what he believed was valid?

Was the influence possibly more subtle than surface thoughts? What if the manipulator had given certain things he believed confirmation or his confidence about these thoughts was subtly boosted?

Neave thought about all the people he could talk to. Perhaps Marven would be the best option? Hmm, not really. He had his own issues, and Neave thought he wasn’t the most morally oriented individual in the first place.

What about Dukean? It was probably the best choice, but it wasn’t viable yet. He had agreed to meet with Dukean in a week. It had already been a few days, but still, a few left.

Then… Gabrias?

No.

Harel?

Hmmmm.

That wasn’t a bad idea. She was inexperienced and naive, but perhaps that was precisely what Neave needed now.

Neave wormed his way out and walked into their new sect premises. It was a pretty massive building, so navigating inside it wasn’t an easy task.

Before he managed to find Harel, he noticed something else.

He felt Hunter in his spirit senses. But something was wrong. Neave took a slight detour and appeared next to Hunter.

Neave was shocked. Was he ill? Hunter was bedridden and looked terrible, but no matter what Neave probed, nothing about his body or spirit was unusual.

Which only left one thing.

Neave sighed.

Then he slapped hunter. He hit him again, pulled his nose, and rhythmically smacked his head, singing along.

Nothing worked, and Hunter remained in his delirious mumbling state no matter what Neave tried. Neave suddenly got a very peculiar idea.

Before he decided to do it, he first spent a good while making sure that it was his own idea and not something that was forced into his brain.

After a few minutes of probing, he felt confident that it was indeed something he had thought of himself.

But will it work?

There was only one way to find out. Hopefully, it wouldn’t result in anyone’s spirit being shattered.

Neave sent out a tendril and slowly wrapped it around Hunter’s spirit. Then he spent a good while fully enveloping his own spirit under the same barrier.

He poked around in his brain a bit and knocked himself out.

***

M–Mother… Why?

Hunter just couldn’t face it. He wondered if it would truly matter to him as much if he had realized this back when he was still in the sect.

Now it was different.

He had experienced the cruel reality of being on the other side of mistreatment, and what he experienced wasn’t even that bad. Compared to the dismissal and moderate bullying he had experienced, what Zearthorn elders did on the regular was far worse.

To think that every person he respected as a child was nothing but vile scum worthy of death. This was unthinkable. It was unbearable. He couldn’t shake the image of his mother slaughtering children or cackling as she ordered someone be poisoned.

Her actions gradually grew worse and worse in his mind. Where did it stop? At what point would she not do something for her benefit?

For the longest time, he considered his mother a champion of righteousness and hard work. Now, that image had been utterly shattered. What was he then? Was he…?

He remembered how he had treated Neave before.

In his mind, it had been justified. Neave was sloth incarnate. His behavior was such that it would corrupt the youth and inspire copycats that would follow in his path. Hunter believed that his beatdowns were doing Neave a favor. After all, the elders did the same thing. 

That was how the sect did things. If you misbehave, you get a beatdown.

Hunter believed Neave would eventually grow tired of taking it and change his ways. Finally, he would step on the path of hard work and discard his stubborn ways.

Now, Hunter felt like puking every time he thought about it. Neave was no longer someone whose behavior Hunter had been correcting. Neave was just a child he mercilessly beat. A kid that would have never even had the opportunity to fight back.

An opportunity that had been cruelly, mercilessly, viciously taken away from him by none other than Hunter’s mother. 

What kind of path had he been walking down all this time? What direction was he heading?

How long until he became a sadistic bastard who committed cruel acts for cruelty's sake?

No, it was worse. It wasn’t even for the sake of cruelty. What his mother did was for her own benefit, and it was so unbelievably petty, so unfathomably unnecessary, that even cruelty would have been a more moral goal.

Hunter had been blind to all of this. He had been utterly oblivious to the gravity of his sins. He couldn’t stop imagining himself grabbing the book cover from beneath the rubble.

Hunter couldn’t stop imagining himself delivering the cover to the Bentheta sect and sending a horde of greedy bastards on a hunt for an innocent child.

Hunter’s mind was flooded with images of him committing unforgivable acts.

Eventually, the images morphed into him doing the same things. A petty elder of a demonic sect, giving heinous orders to disciples who simply couldn’t refuse.

He heard explosions in his mind, one that…

…Explosions?

Something was strange. There was a constant sound of banging and crashing, glass shattering, and things falling. Why was it suddenly so cold?

It was only after the noises grew silent that he opened his eyes.

Where the hell am I?

Panic rushed through his body, and he felt every cell flare up in alarm. He was inside some dark realm, surrounded by a landscape that had suffered immense destruction.

Don’t tell me this is the sect? Had another rift opened?

He could almost see faint shapes in the forms of rifts in the murky clouds above. Hunter’s breathing sped up, and he whirled around for signs of the sect, civilization, or anyone he knew. There was nothing but darkness.

A cold realm of death, shattered glass, and destroyed landscapes.

He heard a voice.

“Do you remember, Hunter?”

Hunter turned around, only to see Neave falling face-first to the ground, but before he touched it, he disappeared. Then he heard his voice again from behind.

“The day I fell in front of everyone?”

Hunter screamed and turned to face Neave, taking wild steps back to escape.

Neave simply stood there, unmoving. The moment Hunter turned his gaze, Neave appeared again in front of him. Hunter tried running away, but he found himself unable to move.

“In the few moments it took me to get back up, my life changed. The book everyone was chasing trapped my soul inside this very realm. For an unimaginably long time.”

“Wha–What are you saying!?” Hunter stammered, unsure of whether this was some sort of morbid hallucination.

Neave released the pressure he was putting on Hunter.

“Follow me.”

Hunter stared around, wondering whether he should run away. There was nowhere to run away to. Complete darkness spread as far as he could see. So he reluctantly got up and followed Neave.

Neave lifted a finger and pointed to a spot behind them.

“See that spot over there? That was where I appeared.” Then he moved his finger to another spot, “And right over there, a demon appeared.”

Hunter wasn’t following. This whole situation felt like, and in his opinion, probably was, just a strange fever dream—one that sure as hell felt real, however—far too real to dismiss as a mere illusion.

“I ran, naturally. But then I died. Once I died, I appeared right back at the same spot, and the same demon chased after me.” Neave turned to face Hunter.

Hunter winced. He was quite a bit taller than Neave, but the child looking up at him felt like a hell-sent executioner, an arbiter of Hunter’s life and death.

“What do you think I did back then?”

“... Huh?”

“... I asked you a question.”

“No, I’m… Neave, is this you? What the hell is happening?”

“That is irrelevant. Please answer the question.”

“Yeah, but I… I’m sorry, I don’t remember what you said.”

Neave gave him a flat look then he laughed.

“Fucking shit Hunter, way to kill the vibe.”

“... Huh?”

Neave stared at Hunter with a deadpan look on his face.

“Huh? Huh? Huh? This is you right now; Huh? Huh? Are you stupid? Maybe you’ve been sleeping too long. Need help waking up?”

“No, I just…”

“I get it, relax. I’m just angry your stupidity ruined my dramatic scene. Just sit down or something.”

Hunter sat down without thinking and stared at Neave anxiously. He still had no idea what was happening.

Neave explained precisely what was happening in as simple terms as he could. He explained the demon book, what it did, how this realm appeared, and how Neave managed to drag him into it.

Explaining it wasn’t easy since Hunter simply couldn’t understand even relatively basic stuff. Neave was stumped at the fact that Hunter couldn’t comprehend the idea of a time loop.

Time passed, and then it did the same thing again from the start. What was so complicated about that?

Neave grabbed his head in frustration. It probably took over an hour until Hunter vaguely understood what was happening. Even then, Neave was sure he just nodded to pretend he wasn’t dumber than a rock.

Hunter was upset at what Neave had told him, even if he didn’t fully comprehend it.

What shocked Neave the most was that Hunter’s thoughts seemed to be in an entirely different place.

“Neave… I… What did my mother say? Before she died, that is.”

Neave paused for a second.

“Nothing special. She tried arguing that what she did to me wasn’t so bad, but even that was likely just to stall for time.”

“... I see.”

Neave omitted the part where he deceived her into thinking he killed Hunter. That might as well remain a secret.

Hunter had a peculiar look in his eye. It was the same half-frown Marven had on his face all the time nowadays. Neave rolled his eyes.

“Oh, just fuck off, Hunter. You’re not going to be like Marven now, all depressing and shit? Look, my mother wasn’t that much better either. Although she didn’t go after the innocent, she did take things way too far against those she considered opponents. She’s dead too, you know, so like… It isn’t necessarily the end of the world.”

That didn’t make Hunter feel any better at all. Mainly because his mother actually liked Brivia.

A question was devouring Hunter from the inside, and he just had to ask.

“Why did you lie to me back then? Did you disguise yourself to…” He didn’t know precisely what Neave wanted. He was sure Neave could have killed him countless times already, so what did he want then?

“I did it because I knew you’d get all pissy and shit if you saw me.”

“That’s… That’s it?”

“Believe it or not, I don’t harbor any resentment toward you. In my eyes, you are nothing more than a victim of sleazy bastards grooming you to be just like them. If you were an adult, it would be a different story. But you’re still a kid. Plenty of time to change your mind and become a better person.”

Neave felt delighted with what he said. That felt like something he, even before entering the loop, would say. It was a morally right opinion that even Dukean would likely agree with.

“I see… It makes sense. But there is one thing I have to apologize for.”

“If you’re going to be all ‘ooh, sorry for bullying you,’ then spare the effort, please. I already got my revenge for that.”

“No, that’s not it. But after the sect had been destroyed, I rummaged through the debris and found the tome's cover. Then I took that tome to a sect intending to have you persecuted.”

ÞÞÞÞÞ

Neave wanted to… ÞÞÞÞÞ

Hunter dese… ÞÞÞ

It was tim… ÞÞÞÞ

ÞÞÞÞÞÞ ÞÞÞÞÞÞ ÞÞÞÞÞÞ

Neave stared at Hunter, desperately holding back the influx of foreign thoughts. But some he felt were entirely his own.

This was way worse than a bit of bullying. What Hunter did was likely the direct cause of the people that chased him down.

The people that died at Neave’s hands had likely been there because of Hunter.

Neave broke out in a sweat and groaned. He grabbed his aching head as he fought the constant push to act. It was hard to even separate his own thoughts from the foreign influence.

Because this time, even he wanted to kill him.

There was only one reason Neave resisted the urge to tear Hunter apart, first here and then in the real world.

It was pretty simple, really.

If one agreed with the spooky mind manipulation that coerced them into mindless slaughter, one should probably reconsider their beliefs.

Hunter noticed Neave’s strange behavior and slowly got up to run, but out of nowhere, everything went black.

Hunter woke up sweaty and panting, looking around the room in fright.

Neave was nowhere to be found.