The Jester of Apocalypse

Neave and Harel found themselves before Gabrias and Marven. The first thing Neave did was laugh. It was noticeable from a mile away that Marven had been tutoring Gabrias on how to look like a sect master, and Gabrias was getting very good at it.

So much so that Neave couldn’t help but laugh at the absurd show.

Gabrias stood in the middle of their sect’s main hall with his arms crossed behind his back. His rough face was stern and austere, while his height added to the imposing effect. He donned light blue robes.

Neave assumed those were meant to be a design for their fledgling sect. He quite liked it. They looked serene and calm, like the blue expanse above.

Something, something, heavens above, I’m sure someone will see the symbolism eventually, Neave thought to himself jokingly.

Gabrias didn’t look surprised to see them. Or rather, he did look surprised, just not shocked. His expression was pleasant, although it still maintained the same firmness.

“Greetings, Harel…” Gabrias looked at Neave hesitantly, “... Lord Neave.”

Neave burst out laughing again.

“What the hell is up with that!? Lord Neave!?”

“Mmh, I apologize. Was that to your dislike? What would you prefer I call you?”

Neave stopped laughing. Something was odd about the way Gabrias was treating him. It felt respectful, subordinate even. Not unwillingly so, either, not by a long shot. Neave found this… Uncomfortable? He didn’t know how to feel about this new treatment.

He also wouldn’t dismiss it and reject it. It was only natural. One day he would have the gods themselves bowing to him, so he might as well get used to this sort of treatment early.

Neave transformed into his young master form. His frame filled his loose robes, and he pulled some of his long hair out of the fine silky clothing.

“Young master shall suffice, Gabrias.” Neave declared haughtily, which made Harel roll her eyes.

“As you wish, young master.” Gabrias bowed.

It was still awkward, but Neave liked it. He would prefer Gabrias act like this rather than scream and piss himself. He just wondered what inspired the change in Gabrias' demeanor.

Not only that, but he also wondered what inspired the change in Harel’s behavior. The way they acted felt usual, unnatural even. This wasn’t how they used to treat him until just a bit ago, so something must have drastically changed.

Marven walked up to them as well and greeted them. He turned to Neave.

“I’ve been waiting for you to arrive, son. We have prepared quite a few things for the newly forming sect. Now I want to consult you on how you wish we do our recruitment.”

“Okay, what the fuck is happening here?”

Marven asked first.

“What do you mean?”

Then Gabrias did.

“Is something to your displeasure, young master?”

Neave groaned.

“That! Exactly that! What the fuck!? Why are you all acting so… Weird? I thought Hunter was acting weird, but you all take it to a different level!”

Marven perked up at the mention of Hunter. He looked hesitant for a moment.

“Is Hunter awake?”

“Yeah, he is, but that’s beside the point. You all are acting suspicious as balls. I turn around for a second, and suddenly you’re all respectful and shit. Are you plotting something?”

The only answer to that was a glance at one another and a pleasant smile.

Harel spoke first.

“Isn’t it obvious?”

Neave thought he was going insane. Obvious?

Marven chuckled a little awkwardly.

“Neave, I have no idea where you were for the last few days, but I’m assuming you weren’t in public, were you?”

“Huh?”

Harel looked delighted as she delivered the news with a smug smile.

“Neave, you do know you’re something of a hero now, right?”

***

The last few days were among the most turbulent in the empire’s history. The diamond path cultivators wanted to hide the death of Zhaore at first, but they couldn’t keep it a secret for long.

The people wanted answers. A rift had opened inside the capital, and the death toll was rather significant, but only one among them had appeared, and in the people’s eyes, too late.

The diamond rankers had elected to share the news of the myth golem and Zhaore’s death. It would cause quite a bit of panic, but at this point, panic was the correct way to react.

It was best for the news to become public because the Emperor wanted everyone to bring any, even the slightest, hint of information about the golem as quickly as possible. And the news of Zhaore’s death was virtually impossible to keep secret anyway.

His sect deserved to know of his death. That was only natural.

The Deagon sect was among those least impacted by Zhaore’s death, at least emotionally. It was pretty ironic but expected from them. To the members of the Deagon sect, death was an inevitable part of life, a blade hanging above everyone’s neck at all times.

It was only expected that that included even their patriarch.

This wasn’t to say that they weren’t grieving as well.

Soon after the news of Zhaore’s death, Xondir ascended to the diamond path. This was among the main reasons Deagon could afford to maintain their apathetic outlook on death.

Xondir was one of three cultivators on the precipice of the diamond path among the four greatest sects. It was agreed upon that they should all possess an equal number of diamond path cultivators.

While power was important in the fight against the monsters, a balance was essential. One should never forget that although they were allies, the highest sects were rivals.

The people were still angry about their absence and blamed the leadership for the enormous death toll. Over a hundred thousand people died in the incident.

Nobody, however, had forgotten the ‘demon child.’ The rumors of how he ‘heroically’ fought and eventually sacrificed his life in the fight against the violet dragon spread like wildfire.

While, at first, the people used the appearance of the demon child to mock and put extra blame on the diamond path cultivators, it quickly transformed into something more.

As far as everyone was concerned, the demon child was dead. This was convenient. Now, everybody could say whatever they wanted, and there would be no way to disprove it. The dead couldn’t take sides after all.

So, over the first few days, many people claimed that the demon child was either a secret member of their sect or an ally.

Quickly, the term ‘demon child’ became frowned upon.

How dare you call him a demon!

People started many fights over what was perceived as a derogatory name for their new savior. Relatively soon, the rumors of the demon child’s real name had spread. Quite a few people claimed they knew his name, so he went from being Lave, Peewe, Greaves, Ferdinard, and eventually, Neave.

And his ‘demon child’ title had also received a minor change.

***

“What the fuck…?” Neave mouthed the words under his breath.

He stood in a relatively populated street, together with many others. Many were crying and even cursing the heavens.

He blinked again, finding it difficult to believe his eyes. He was looking at a statue.

A statue of himself.

It was a beautiful statue, no doubt, and holy shit, was it realistic. This statue was a life-like recreation of Neave. It was even painted. The only things that were off were his hair and face, which he had morphed to protect his identity. The statue portrayed him as a bit uglier and as having black hair. 

The statue was Neave standing on top of the dead dragon, with countless snakes lying dead in piles beneath him.

There was a plaque beneath the statue that said:

The unforgotten savior, slayer of serpents, and martyr of the Neave’s Demise mystical realm.

Neave Zearthorn, the Lost Child.

…

Are you fucking kidding meeeee!?

Neave stared at the masses of people, mouth hanging wide open. These people wept like morons, saying stupid shit like ‘the heavens must have been jealous.’

Neave was genuinely questioning whether he had lost his mind.

He thought they were pulling his leg when they told him what happened when he was absent.

Neave briefly considered destroying the statue but decided against it.

Whatever.

This was neither good nor bad for him in any way. It might even be good. If he ever revealed his identity or made a return, people could potentially side with him. For now, this was just a confusing but amusing development.

Neave was still unsure why this would have impacted how the others treated him. At least these people had the excuse of never actually meeting him personally.

Neave returned to the sect, and after another brief conversation, he felt the unusual treatment again. He discussed what he felt would be best for starting the sect. Everyone listened to him, nodding and adding what they felt would be best.

They settled for arranging a trial.

Any prospective disciples that wanted to join the sect would have to duel against Neave first, and then he would decide whether they were fit to enter the sect.

Neave had no plans on accepting anyone even remotely qualified. Instead, this preliminary trial was dedicated to eliminating those that seemed decent. Yet again, to Neave’s bewilderment, the others thought this would be a splendid idea.

Well, it didn’t matter anyway.

Neave once again retreated to his underground chamber.

As he collected himself, he felt a strange sense of… Hesitation.

It suddenly felt pointless. Why was he doing this whole sect business in the first place? Sure, it would be decent for experimentation, but that was about it. There was little less he would get from creating this sect, at least in the short run.

Neave suddenly had a chilling thought.

Could it be…?

Was it possible he decided to create this sect due to the foreign influence?

His heartbeat sped up.

But why?

Neave was struggling to identify precisely what this foreign influence wanted. He needed to know. So he would find out. Neave plopped down to the ground and knocked himself unconscious.

***

She… No… Dimbra had dug further underground from where she had initially appeared. Now she stood in a large, predominantly empty cavern. Empty, except for the lines of humanoid stone statues.

She approached the first and placed her hand on it.

A pulse shot out from her core into the inert stone. A small core formed inside the statue, and the golem began moving.

It wasn’t particularly powerful. Rather, being powerful wasn’t its purpose.

The statue walked up to a platform of purple crystal. The platform vibrated, and it disappeared.

Underground, beneath the yixine empire, the golem appeared in one of the many deep cave complexes. It walked around for a bit, mindlessly following anything that moved. Eventually, a grotesque ape-like creature jumped at it and crushed it to bits.

The monster grabbed the small core. It had ethereal specks, although rather faint, just like any other monster core, but it also had a tiny hint of black—one that the monster didn’t notice.

As it consumed the core, it walked away, seeking prey. Then it paused. The monster grabbed its head and whimpered. Once it got up, it knew.

There was vengeance to be had.