The Jester of Apocalypse

Kaphor stared at the large stalk of grass in front of him.

“Something must be wrong with my head.”

A roughly three to four-meter radius around the grass stalk had been plucked clean of all other plant life. By Kaphor, that was.

It had been a while since he started this insane experiment, and he felt as if he was losing his mind. He had abandoned the grass stalk several times, quitting this crazy behavior and thinking about the future.

But every time he did this, he felt he had nothing to strive for. There was simply no reason to leave this place. Soon enough, he couldn’t ignore the stalk of grass anymore. So he would sit right back in front of it and continue nurturing it.

Several times, a thought crossed his mind. He wanted to destroy it. Pluck it out of the ground and scatter it, and hopefully, it would release its grip on his life. However, every time he felt that impulse, a stronger one rapidly overwhelmed it. Fear. Anxiety. Panic.

The mere idea of something happening to the grass stalk became terrifying to him.

But why?

He had no idea. It was just grass, for heavens’ sake! Why was he so absorbed with nurturing it?

Kaphor asked himself that same question hundreds of times, and each subsequent time he felt the answer slipping further and further away from his grasp. Maybe it was simple madness. Perhaps it wasn’t. No matter how torn he felt, how confused he was, he kept nurturing the plant.

Because one thing was clear above all else—he didn’t have a reason to stop.

Soon enough, the stalk of grass dwarfed its neighbors. Kaphor chose to give it a name.

Paora.

Even though he knew that naming a plant was absurd, the more he questioned his ridiculous behavior, the less reason he found to stop doing it.

So what if he wanted to name a plant? Who would stop him? Few individuals had the power to talk down on him or criticize him for his behavior. He was on the gold path, after all.

So fuck it!

Fuck it all!

Who gave a shit!?

He would just do what he wanted to do. Were his actions irrational? So fucking what!? If he wanted grass or a bug or a speck of dust to be his center of existence, then he was the one who had the power to decide that. Not some asshole sect master or superior of his, but himself.

As Kaphor slowly abandoned his inhibitions, his behavior grew more extreme.

Soon enough, he noticed that a few neighboring stalks of grass had also adopted a slightly greener shade.

He wasn’t having that. Jealousy drove Kaphor to tear all neighboring plants out of the soil. Carefully though, so that he wouldn’t damage Paora’s roots. Soon enough, the radius in which he removed the plants kept growing until, finally, he was confident that no plant was stealing anything from Paora.

For now, at least.

He would have to expand the area later since, obviously, Paora would grow to conquer far more than a measly radius of a few meters.

After stripping the surrounding soil bare, he noticed Paora had grown bigger.

His silence was interrupted when a monster snuck too close to his sanctuary. It was a large abominid that resembled a mix between a bear, wolf, and several bugs. It rushed at Kaphor, but he stopped it without breaking a sweat. A single punch was all it took.

Once dead, he extracted a small amount of its blood and sprinkled it around the bare soil, not too close to Paora. It was important for the earth to be nutritious, but not right on top of the plant.

Powerful plants could spread their roots relatively wide, so Kaphor would let it pick and choose different sections of soil rather than force a specific type of care onto it.

Once he extracted the monster core, he walked to a corner of his small sanctuary. There, he had a basin full of glittering water. Several inscribed monster cores shone at the bottom of that basin as they slowly released their spirit into the water.

Kaphor inscribed the core in his hands and plopped it into the water. Then he grabbed a small bucket and took some water.

He walked back over to the soil surrounding the plant and splashed the water over the bloody area to dilute it and properly imbue it into the dirt.

“Hmmm?” Kaphor turned to the small grass stalk, “I must be losing it.”

For a second, he thought the plant seemed satisfied.

***

Dukean finished a meeting with his father. He cursed at his old man’s foolishness as he walked around the sect.

“That stupid…”

Dukean kept his connection to Neave a secret. It was doubly important now that these clowns turned Neave’s status into that absurd mockery.

The only reason why Dukean didn’t consider Neave a monster in human skin was that the comparison to monsters was too weak. Neave was a walking disaster. The anxiety was killing Dukean as he waited for the last few days to pass and for their agreed meeting time to arrive.

The conversation with his father didn’t ease his anxiety in the slightest.

Dukean intended to reveal his connection to Neave to his father, but after this conversation, he knew he shouldn’t. Kingean was full of doubts and hatred toward his colleagues now.

Everyone except Carfen.

Kingean cast his suspicion on Beanna, and his eternal love for the Emperor swiftly turned to resentment. He considered Xondir an immature, inferior alternative to Zhaore, which was ironic given that Xondir was technically older than Kingean.

If he wasn’t forced to remain at the third step of the platinum path for so long, he could have been a diamond path cultivator way before Kingean.

It was clear that the death of Zhaore had a profound impact on Dukean’s father. Kingean would never admit it, but Dukean knew they had.

A rivalry forged from respect for one another as cultivators and warriors.

Now that that rivalry was over, all it had left behind was bitterness.

Dukean didn’t despair. He collected himself and made preparations. Although he didn’t overreact, he wasn’t underestimating the crisis.

If Carfen were indeed a demon, then Kingean having trust in him would eventually bring dire consequences.

Dukean could only hope that Neave was the solution to his problem. Because if he wasn’t…

He recollected himself. It wasn’t the time for such thoughts, not yet.

Now, what he had to do, was wait.

***

Just because someone was beautiful didn’t mean that they were a good person.

However, all ugly people were evil.

Such was the generally accepted opinion on the Langen continent. A place for those who were beautiful, both outside and inside. The people of Langen commonly believed that the gods cursed those doomed to be evil so that everyone could see their inner filth on the surface. Those who were beautiful but evil were believed to have been deceived by the devils, and naturally, the gods would forgive them if they repented and changed their ways.

Twenty young men and women were dressed in beautiful robes and decorated with the most wonderful flowers.

Yet, they themselves were miserably ugly.

Those higher ranked among the blessed of the Langen continent had witnessed the repulsive looks of those who lived outside. Compared to those barbarians, even these unsightly ones were dazzling.

However, nobody would genuinely use that as a justification for the deeds these creatures would have committed in the future. Their outer filth reflected who they were on the inside, who they were doomed to be. So they had to repent.

Finally, the gods would forgive them for their sins.

Vast crowds of expectant onlookers witnessed the wonderful ritual that was taking place. The most beautiful little girls and boys, the paragons of virtue for the next generation, frolicked among the hideous ones and threw flowers on them.

It would soon be over.

A white light began shining from the skies above, and the children moved off the platform. A beam of pure energy connected the center of the ritual platform to the heavens, and the delightful glow wrapped around the disfigured sinners within.

To those not on the platinum path, the ritual looked like the light gently embraced and took them away.

However, everyone on the platinum path could gaze behind the bright screen and see what was happening beneath. The white light burned the bodies of those within, peeling their layers off until nothing was left.

Naturally, they believed the crooked were being taken to a better place. As the more privileged and blessed of the gods' servants, their loyalty was being tested. For all present, faith had prevailed.

In the stead of the offensively unappealing wrongdoers, a heavenly messenger appeared.

Someone whose beauty took the breath of everyone present away.

He was a man of perfection. Pitch black hair, a beardless face chiseled from divine marble, and a body of ideal proportions.

He walked out of the circle and bowed to the masses. The men knew their fate. And they accepted it. If their women wished to flock to this divine gentleman, they would be forgiven.

All that the many fathers and husbands of Langen hoped for was to be allowed to watch.

The Grand Queen stepped forward and bowed deeply to the heavenly messenger.

“Welcome, demigod. You need merely say, and you shall receive.”

The man smiled lightly and bowed right back, showing full respect to the ruler of this realm.

“Please, get up, dear child. You may call me Hosolar.” He stepped toward her and put his hand gently behind her head, slowly moving his fingers through her hair, “I would like to first get the business out of the way if you please.”

The Grand Queen nodded and stepped back. Hosolar lifted his head and spoke to the masses.

“I am Hosolar of the First Heavenly Realm. The first of the many messengers to arrive. My stay here is unfortunately limited to one year, given the means of transport, so I will have to use this time efficiently. I am here on a special mission. Please, if one by the name of Brivia is present among you, may she step forward.”

Brivia’s breath caught in her throat. She happily jumped toward the man and prostrated on the floor before him.

Hosolar nodded in satisfaction.

“Excellent. My father, the Supreme Ruler of the heavenly realms, sent me here.”

Brivia lifted her head, shock evident in her expression.

“Your son has been selected to become his disciple.”