Chapter 5502: Sensation!
Chapter 5502: Sensation!
The feast roared on across the golden island, and beneath its laughter, Noah gave a silent command to THE Infiniverse to take the herd below. All of it!
She stepped off the edge of the drifting island and flew down.
Noah watched her descent as her cerulean-threaded form dove through the mists of the sanctuary, and then THE Infiniverse went to work in a manner only a Living Observable Existence could. Her authority spread out across the entire basin as she carved out this whole section of THE Krazhor-Nul Dimension, the silver-green plains, the towering blue groves, the placid herds of Mistgrove Behemoths mid-graze, even the ancient soils and the mist itself, all of it separating from the dark geography in one colossal, gentle excision. The dimensional forcefield collapsed as its paradise simply rose, an entire ecosystem lifting like a lily pulled whole from a pond!
And she pulled it into herself.
Her form bloomed with cerulean light as the carved sanctuary folded into her existence, realms within her opening to receive it, and the herds did not even panic, placid natal intents registering only that the sky had changed color and the grass was somehow sweeter. Within moments, an entire domain of THE Krazhor-Nul had been relocated into THE Infiniverse, and somewhere inside her.
And while she did so...Noah heard back from Ryaenara at this time.
He had already heard from THE Creature a little while ago, flat words crossing the dark to confirm he was safe, his portion of the Serpent collapsed into dust. And right now, threading faintly through the heavy weavings of this Dimension, Ryaenara’s voice arrived saying similar words!
"Fucking finally, the threads connect. That serpent was a pain!" Her voice carried its old looseness. "Now listen, I cannot sense your location. Everything in this Dimension carries unknown restrictions, the weavings here are old and territorial, and if we drift too far apart, even messages like this one may not reach through anymore. So describe the regions you have recently crossed, landmarks, anything, and we will see about coming together again."
A pause, and then her voice dropped lower.
"And one more thing. When I defeated his body, that snake looked at me with those crimson eyes and said, ominously, mind you, that they were coming for us. They. Not I. He has called for help, or he serves something that is now aware of us. Be careful."
Noah smiled slightly as he listened.
This was almost the exact same conversation he had held with THE Creature. The same inability to sense locations, the same request for landmarks, well, without the warning.
He proceeded to communicate back to Ryaenara, describing the million-mile obsidian tree, the fossil valleys, the bone sea’s direction, every landmark their golden island had crossed.
And while he did this, he looked at his feasting people, and made a decision.
"Everyone," Noah called out, and the laughter quieted as dozens of faces turned to him. "Finish the feast inside THE Infiniverse. Take the remaining meats with you, take your time, and acclimate to the power settling in you. Your Sources are elevated and your armaments are new, so train with them, learn them, and grow fat and strong! When the time comes, if its safe, you can put the power to use. Otherwise...we may have to upgrade The Dungeons and Crucibles within to give you all a taste of Adversity..."
...!
His words rang out and began to be followed by all.
He needed to get a better grasp of this Dimension and its dangers, and a feast, however joyous, was a gathering of everything he loved in one exposed place. His people withdrew in cheerful waves, Titano carrying three plates, the Emperor Penguin refusing to relinquish his roast, Amelia squeezing Noah’s hand once before stepping through, and soon the golden island held only those he left outside.
Seo-yeon, still sensing upon the throne’s handle. THE Infiniverse. And Emotive!
Their journey continued across the Dimension as the island flew on through the storming dark, and Noah lay back on his throne and closed his eyes.
His senses spread out.
He reached into the chaotic infinity raging through the skies of this place, pulling upon his Infinite Tongue to gather as much information as possible, and as the boundless currents poured their grammar through him, his thoughts moved.
THE Infinite Tongue. THE Primordial Tongue!
Both, at their heart, equated to depth of understanding, how deeply one understood Infinity, and how deeply one understood THE Primordial Source. Letters and weavings of those Tongues were simply understanding crystallized.
And Noah had walked further down both, fusing Infinity and Primordial Source together and integrating them so deeply into his existence that they had stopped being external concepts at all.
But he had done so through his Identity. Osmontian!
He could continue seeking and grasping the Letters and weavings of THE Primordial Tongue and THE Infinite Tongue directly, learning the old grammars as they were written. Or...he could continue expressing Infinity and THE Primordial Source through his identity, through the Osmontian Source Infinity that was both of them fused and claimed as his.
The answer...was fairly obvious.
Why learn a language as a foreigner when he had already built his own tongue atop its roots? Through his Osmontian Source Infinity, he unlocked more and more Trueness in conjunction with his Intent, and more True Appendages arose this way, the Eye, the Vigil, the Root, all of them grown from identity rather than granted by grammar. And for easy advancement, his Osmontian Biomass was the answer, of which he gained more of through his Osmontian Tongue and its Letters, through I AM’s perpetual assertion, through HUMAN’s gathering warmth, through the Tide answering his gifts.
Everything...was neatly connected! Identity fed the Tongue, the Tongue fed the Biomass, the Biomass fed the grades, the grades deepened the Trueness, and the Trueness grew new anatomy. He closed his eyes and smiled as he felt as much as he could, boundless chaotic strings of Infinity humming through his awareness alongside the deep prismatic obsidian currents of Primordial Source!
And threading between both of them, everywherein this Dimension...the third essence.
It had been prevalent all around since their hatching. In the storm-rain. In the stones he forged with. In the heavy air itself, a quiet third presence braided through the two authorities he knew best, and Noah turned the whole of his focus upon it now as its nature began, slowly, to be grasped by him!
It did not vibrate like Infinity. It did not flow like Primordial Source. It clung. It remembered. Every string of it hooked into other strings like a burr, like a debt, like a word spoken over a cradle that never stopped applying, and as his Osmontian Source Infinity traced its grammar, the prompts began to bloom.
|You have grasped the nature of the third essence.|
|Designation: THE Lingering Word. It is Curse Authority. Concentrated, ambient, and ancient past all framing, and its weavings trace directly back to Those Who Remain. This entire Dimension is saturated in it because this entire Dimension was judged in it. THE Lingering Word is the residue of the original curse spoken over THE Krazhor-Nul, the authority that collapsed the Steeds’ First Causes into terminal weavings and bound expiration into the blood of every Cursed Descendant. It has rained upon this place for ages beyond counting, and it does not fade, because a curse from Those Who Remain is not an event. It is a standing sentence, still being served.|
|Its properties, as I can measure them: it is a True authority of binding and decree. A wielder could brand outcomes onto existences, terminal weavings, guaranteed endings, decrees that ignore the gap between Scales entirely, for a curse does not fight its target’s power, it simply applies. The Marrowbane Fruit you carry is a condensed droplet of this very authority.|
|And its cost. THE Lingering Word is detrimental to the existence of any wielder. To speak in it is to hold it, and to hold it is to be marked by it, every use hooks its burrs into the wielder’s own weavings, and enough use will seed terminal threads into one’s own Cause. The Cursed Descendants did not merely inherit their curse. Their ancestors wielded this authority in their experiments, and it collected its fee.|
...!