The Jester of Apocalypse

Defying the heavens, violating balance, and the concept of infinite perfection.

It was claimed that the heavens, infinite in their wisdom, created harmony. Harmony between all, above and beyond one, several, many and all.

What was an individual to a society? What was a society to a civilization? What was a civilization to the myriad species of the realms above and below? What was life to all that was unliving?

And finally, what could all that was, matter to all that wasn’t?

Defying the heavens meant violating this harmony. To rise above your due station as an insignificant speck of dust in the grand scheme of things, and strive to be more, was to spit on what you were given and take what was given to else.

To steal from others below, above, the unliving, and ultimately, to bring into being that which wasn’t.

The great philosophers of every era had dedicated their lives to deciphering all the insidious ways the heavens punished the defiers.

No set number of punishments existed, as no man dared deem themselves wiser than the heavens. However, many were willing to defy them.

The ultimate heavenly punishment, the fate that awaited every cultivator, was losing the right to ever have peace. Yet, this was the punishment people accepted most easily. After all, peace was never a certainty. Being powerless meant waiting to become a victim, so deciding to take matters into one’s own hands was easy.

That was far from the end of heaven’s punishment, however.

The way mortal beings witnessed the passage of time was merciful. It was cyclical, eternal, beginning from the humble exchange between night and day and ending in the grand orchestra of seasons.

Time only passed on a small scale. Only in seconds, minutes, and hours did one feel the tides of time washing over them.

Yet, the cycles were eternal, neverending.

The day usurped night and night banished the day.

The treachery of fall ruined summer’s reign. The backstab of winter stole fall’s rebellion away. The heroism of spring conquered the winter. And spring’s prosperity ascended to summer’s reign.

Repetition, sequence, eternity.

The unforgettable, unerasable signature of the year’s cyclical change marked events far more clearly than mortal means. Even then, the past was meant to be forgotten, and the future was meant to be unknown.

One was forever until one wasn’t. Then, the cycle of being would continue through their offspring, which would eventually, too, be wiped away.

The cruelest, most merciless punishment the heavens could give was to rescind one's right to a truly eternal life.

Cultivators needed less sleep, and they no longer needed it in daily intervals. The cycle of the day was the first to be taken away.

They could roam the realm, appearing great distances away at will, yet, they no longer had the privilege of witnessing the epic, neverending battle of seasons. Thus, another cycle, gone.

Their young no longer continued their life in their stead, but instead, they died, schemed, stole, and betrayed, dooming those who lived past their time to witness their offspring try to take it away from them.

Only when the flow of time turned linear, some claimed, that one lived a life shorter than eternity.

Dukean recalled the teachings he had read throughout his life. They gave him no comfort. They weren’t meant to, to begin with.

He had always considered himself resolute. Understanding what it meant to defy the heavens was a core principle of their family, something his father carved into his mind from an early age.

What kind of abomination were they committing right now if the heavens decreed such a cruel fate upon them?

Dukean was trying to meditate, but it was becoming impossible. The constant anxiety was unbearable, and he felt as if his mind was being torn apart.

Cycles? What fucking cycles?

There was no such thing as a cycle here, yet, in a cruel twist of fate, repetition was everywhere.

Perpetual darkness, above and below, dominated this realm of nightmares. Continuous cold, a bone-piercing chill that didn’t permit comfort, crept into every corner and filled every room.

Eternal darkness couldn’t be called eternal night.

Eternal cold couldn’t be called eternal winter.

Those names belonged to the sacred cycles, while this realm was an unholy, disgusting abomination, the ultimate sin against perfection.

Perception of time was something many took for granted in their daily lives. However, only when that privilege was taken away did it truly become clear how big of a role it played in keeping people sane.

Dukean broke out of his meditation. He used his spirit power to generate fire, temporarily casting away the darkness and the cold.

It wasn’t even seconds later that the others were rushing into his room, shamelessly gathering around him. He didn’t blame them.

Harel looked decrepit. Her hair was falling out, and her dry, red eyes were almost constantly open. She had lost considerable weight and now looked extremely unhealthy.

Hunter seemed fine at first glance, but he constantly whispered something to himself.

The entire base they found themselves in was overdecorated, as Gabrias spent literally all his time building or crafting something, to the point where he barely ever slept. Trying to force him to sleep made him scream his lungs out, and only when allowed to go back to work did he shut up.

They had to knock him out by force to get him to rest. Otherwise, his screams would compromise the already fragile sanity of everyone else.

Marven looked lethargic, and Dukean knew why.

The mighty cultivator had taken the role of a leader. Thus, he had come to Dukean many times and developed a habit of relying on Dukean to vent his frustrations. He worked tirelessly, constantly trying to puzzle out ways to maintain the precarious balance of their sanity, and he looked beyond exhausted already.

At first, Dukean was glad that Marven gained trust in him. A short while after Marven started, Dukean began hating Marven’s guts, as he would almost constantly pester him. However, soon after, yet again, he would be glad that Marven was talking to him.

How funny, Dukean thought. It was almost a cycle. A horrid, disgusting parody of a cycle, one that juggled respect and hatred.

Dukean laughed to himself, and the others looked at him in fright.

Harel joined him in cackling, and so did Hunter. Gabrias screamed, and Marven jumped to restrain and knock him out. The three others cackled merrily as Marven struck Gabrias a few times more than he should have.

As everyone laughed at him, Marven looked almost ready to cry, but soon enough, he was laughing as well.

Thump…

They all heard the sound. It inspired fear and upset them initially, but now they drooled at their mouths and ran out like wild dogs, rushing to the pile of processed abominid meat.

Marven held himself back and grabbed Hunter and Harel by their necks, restraining them while commanding Dukean to cook the meat first.

Dukean was also barely restraining himself from eating, and he rushed to cook the meat with his spirit power.

Some pieces were burnt, and others were nearly raw.

Once he was done, Marven released the two rabid kids, and they all jumped on the meat.

It took much willpower not to devour Gabrias’ share as well.

Gabrias was woken up, and his screams were muted, this time by the meat that was forcefully shoved into his mouth.

They had eaten, and now it was time.

It was time to train.

Marven commanded them to get into formation, and they did as he told them.

Hunter and Gabrias were paired up, as they were relatively close in strength, while Harel sparred against Dukean. They all held practice swords shaped out of obsidian.

Their power was far too far apart, yet, it was Dukean that dreaded facing Harel instead.

“Start!” Marven swung his hand, and the spar began.

Gabrias screamed, running at Hunter like a maniac.

Hunter got into a defensive position and yelled out, “Uldhore, attack from the side!”

Gabrias tackled Hunter, and they wrestled on the floor.

Hunter yelled, “What the hell are you doing just standing there, dude? We have to fight!”

Harel cackled at Hunter, and she turned to face Dukean. She lifted her practice sword and dashed toward him.

The way she fought was simply frightening.

Dukean, naturally, had to hold back since he was far too powerful to make for a decent opponent against her. Yet, even with the fact that he was holding back, he would frequently be surprised and caught off guard by the things she did.

She would rush him like a heavensdamned lunatic, leaving many openings for him to capitalize on. Yet, if he did that, the attack she was invested in would spell the end of the fight, and if they were evenly matched, likely the end of his life as well.

It was such a psychotic fighting style that Dukean was confident she would easily win tournaments among combatants her age, but not for the right reasons.

When one was burned once in a fight against her, it immediately created a sense of hesitation that, throughout the fight, gradually evolved into a phobia of doing anything at all.

In the beginning, Marven kept everyone’s fighting styles in check and trained them properly. However, as this damned place strained his willpower at ever-increasing levels, he decided to be more lenient. That leniency had long turned to negligence.

Willpower wasn’t an endless resource. It was like a muscle. If not allowed proper rest, it would eventually fail. There was nobody else to take over Marven’s responsibility of keeping things in check, so he had thoroughly burned out to the point where forcing himself to keep going was impossible.

All of them frequently wondered when Neave would finally be done with his project. However, things weren’t guaranteed to improve with Neave’s return.

They kept fighting to the point where they likely should have stopped a while ago but kept going anyway.

The rush of combat kept the fear away, and like any other addicts, they couldn’t stop themselves from overindulging in their drug of choice.

Once they were thoroughly exhausted, everyone except for Dukean, that was, all went to sleep, falling unconscious one by one.

Marven took on the responsibility of tiring Dukean out until he was also knocked out, and finally, everyone was asleep for the first time in a while.

Marven immediately fell asleep as well. It was a risk, given that he held immense responsibility here, but it was a risk he was willing to take. Screw the consequences, he needed sleep badly, and he needed it now.

That marked the moment when everyone lay mostly defenseless and thoroughly exhausted on the ground.

***

Gabrias was the first among them to wake up. Screaming the moment he did, he rushed to go do something. Not even that was enough to wake the others up.

He walked over to a corner, turned, and entered a room. It was the largest room they had and also the least important one.

It was a room that held many tiny houses and random structures. Gabrias had already constructed everything he was meant to, so he needed something to do. Thus, Marven told him to do whatever he wanted.

So he did precisely that.

The buildings themselves were genuinely terrific. Even with his rudimentary materials, Gabrias constructed firm buildings using every over-the-top, redundant construction technique he could think of.

He didn’t hold back on decoration, either.

Some entrances had doors leading into them, constructed from obsidian branches.

Others had beaded door curtains, ones that were made with polished obsidian beads. As for where he had gotten the thread that he hung the beads on, he collected loose hair, naturally.

Harel was losing a ton, and even he was losing hair constantly. Their hair had already grown quite a bit, too, but there was still a shortage.

So he ran back into the room with the sleeping cultivators.

Where could he get more hair?

Ah, of course!

Gabrias grabbed a sharp obsidian branch and shaved everyone’s heads bald.

It was far from a clean shave. The victims all looked messier than plucked chickens.

If somebody dropped wet candy onto a dirty carpet, that’s roughly what it would look like.

Naturally, he didn’t spare himself either! The ball of hair he gathered was a messy collection of random colors.

Gabrias decided to make a curtain for one of the windows as he had a surplus of material.

He worked frighteningly fast and relatively soon created a colorful curtain. Once he hung it, it draped down quite firmly, as it was rather heavy.

It was greasier than balls, too, and smelled off.

Gabrias shrugged. That would do fine for now!

He returned back to the room. He looked at the others, mind sparking with ideas. Everyone was wearing robes, too, and that was potentially construction material!

Gabrias approached Harel first and reached for her robes. He paused. What was he doing!? That wouldn’t do. This was immoral. How could he strip a young lady of her robes?

So he stripped everyone else instead.

Yes. Even himself.

The robes were crafted into a messy carpet, but one that he miraculously made look quite nice. He nodded in satisfaction, and he returned to the room.

Damn it, he was out of materials to harvest!

Actually… No. There was one more thing. Skin could be turned to leather. That was quite a high-quality material.

Gabrias walked over to Marven. He took the sword and carefully pulled it out of its sheath.

Then, he walked over to the small exit from their little cave and went outside.

That was right.

He would harvest some demons instead.