Chapter 48 And He Left
Morse withdrew his will from where Perturabo was, his situation no longer allowing him to be distracted.
The sharp dagger cut through the black cloth covering the palm. The material made of solid thread and linen was cut off one after another under the sharp concept beyond the world. The layers were loose and peeled off, revealing the real dagger. Something to pierce.
A void.
More black cloth strips disintegrated from the surface of his arm and scattered on the wet ground.
The contents wrapped in the black robe seemed to disappear out of thin air, or perhaps never existed.
Morse closed his eyes, and the dark cloth that lost its support collapsed inward, and fell to the floor following the call of gravity, crumpling into a heap of carbon black in despair, soaked in the blood of evil things.
Located on the top of the cloth was the exquisite little dagger, which seemed to be telling everyone the feat it had accomplished with the ultimate mockery.
Subsequently, a form that could not be observed in the real universe opened its eyes and stepped out of his false body.
Each piece of lost disguise represents the exposure of more essence. From fingers to shoulders, from soles to chest, the golden mantra supports a nothingness that looks like a human body.
Every morsel of food and drink he ever took turned into nothingness, and every drop of blood he shed was an illusion created by runes.
The robes and bandages covering his whole body were peeled off, and the simulation and portrayal of his face ceased. What remains now is the core of his authenticity.
Morse tried to smile. He felt that the position of his head should have fluctuated a little.
Usually he will not exist in this form unless he has to.
This is not because he is particularly dissatisfied with his inhuman condition, but this appearance is actually a bit rough and unpolished compared to the body he once had.
He raised his left hand, and countless flowing incantations reflected golden light under different lighting conditions, outlining his general appearance.
Even the most inconspicuous piece of incantation less than an inch long is the supreme command that directly communicates the basic rules of the real universe.
Spell.
This is the way runes are called, a system that is different from psychic energy and directly shakes the foundation of reality.
As for his right hand, that part of the stored curse was lost behind the curtain about fifteen thousand years ago; returning to its original form, his right hand also ceased to exist for the time being.
When he thought of related events, he had to mention a certain bandit who he didn't even know how to describe. After connecting that incident with Perturabo's existence, Morse found that he had finally unintentionally figured out what mysterious technology that man was tinkering with back then.
That guy never told anyone what he wanted to do.
When he stepped on the ground, the whole scene changed further. The room he was in turned into a small gold and silver cabin, and outside the cabin was a vast ocean of endless colors.
In the deep and endless space, infinite things are devouring each other and iterating every minute. Fixed time and space, and even conventional physical laws are meaningless here, only chaos is eternal.
He exited the cabin, an ornate sail made of sewn mammal hides flying above his head. The boat was rising and falling, and from time to time there were wind and waves mixed with contemptuous and sweet laughter, telling him the course of the boat.
Morse simply sat down and let the waves of subspace guide the boat.
Then, a short half-length wooden arrow was knocked onto the ship's board by the waves and landed in front of Morse. What followed was a vague conversation.
“This is my arrow, I shot the deer!”
“Our arrows are exactly the same, don’t lie, brother, this is my deer.”< br>
“But I carved a mark on the arrow shaft...”
Morse picked up the broken arrow and found a horizontal mark on the wooden pole near the arrow sword. The curse climbed from his hollow skin to the broken arrow, annihilating it instantly.
He heard the sharp laughter become more harsh, and a big bird with blue feathers flew to the top of the mast, chirping and laughing loudly.
A string of runes flew up, scorching the feathers of the big bird, causing it to fall headfirst back into the ocean.
The second thing that flew onto the ship was a piece of iron. The sound coming from it became clearer, and some hazy reflections were intercepted from time and space, stored, and replayed at this time. . Those rather ethereal things passed through truth, illusion and reality, and captured Morse again across tens of thousands of years, when he had another name.
For his first forge, some psychic energy was used to control the temperature of the furnace. There is no mentor, no companion, and his brother has other things to do - he is receiving the education of a mentor from afar, the education of building a city.
He himself studied all the changes in steel and listened to the sound of flames. His experiment was of course a failure, and the iron sword broke into several deformed pieces of iron. He could hear himself sighing and distressing.
When he held the failed product and wanted to use his spiritual energy to secretly roll it into small balls and throw them away, a cold and magnificent force held up the failed iron piece.
A long and narrow beam of light emerged from the crack of the opened door, piercing into the dim room after the fire was extinguished. The wind comes from outside the door, carrying the scent of woods and cold sun.
The illusion ends abruptly. The subspace has no ability to simulate things that do not belong to them. Morse shrugged his shoulders, picked up the broken piece of iron, and threw the illusion back into the depths of the sea.
He stood up and held the edge of the boat with one hand.
The next illusion no longer relies on specific things, nor is it so friendly.
He saw his own body - the first and only one - lying in the ditch of the half-built city, his dim eyes still open, looking at the great city. The city was to be named after his brother, and the reason for his defeat in the brotherly fight could only be described as absurd.
The heavy rain blew over the masonry and the eagle emblem on the masonry poured into the ditch. Someone was walking towards him from the depths of the rain curtain. The flash of lightning made the entire scene look grim and pale.
The changing images condensed into blue bird feathers and fell on his shoulders, conveying its words before being destroyed: "Your death happened a long time ago... How can you still do it calmly?" Where is a living person? You can’t survive like this... Do you know what happened next?”
Morse impatiently tossed a handful of feathered ashes back into the sea.
He just lived a long time, and it was not the degenerative disease of the central nervous system that caused progressive cognitive function impairment and behavioral impairment.
“He reshapes my inner being with lightning, masonry, and wind and thunder, sustains me with the spirit of sorrow and green olives, washes me and makes me whiter than snow.”
“He uses the earth. The dust on my body made my skin, and filled my flesh with the curse."
"My spirit and the curse are one, I am a dead person, a permanent monument, a book. Living books.”
He is a collection of mantras, a living memory.
Morse looked at his missing right arm.
When he was under the rocks of Lupacalia, he assisted the fire thief to open and close the door to the nightmare and non-material realm, and penetrated deep into the sea of destruction and disorder of the gods, and his whole body was covered with blood. Retreat, part of the spell is permanently lost during use, and all related memories are taken away.
To this day, he still doesn’t know what instructions he lost to manipulate reality. There is only one thing that he will probably not forget in ten thousand years.
And he didn't even know whether he should describe it as "this incident will be remembered until the end of his life". After all, he had never lived again since his first death.
"Your duties are temporarily over."
The wind of Moro blew away, and the incandescent flames drifted away. There was burnt blood and distant thunder in the voice of the first thinker. This was the final cold revelation.
“You should leave.”
So he left—
So he left.
Morse jumped out of the boat and stepped on the surface of the turbulent waves. The tide immediately receded, leaving only a chaotic golden sand plain. Looking down through his transparent body, every grain of yellow sand is the most precious and brilliant gold coin. Gold and jewels were piled up like mountains, and the whole piece of blue sapphire reflected endless gorgeous light.
He has reached the edge of bliss.
Morse raised his left hand and spelled a big sword out of the sea of chaos. Then he traveled to the depths of gold.
(End of this chapter)