The Jester of Apocalypse

Neave rarely, if ever, truly acted his age. 

It was hard to say what his age really was, to begin with. 

Was he eleven? Or did all the years stuck within the loop count? Who was to really say? Neave felt it depended on social interaction, maturity, and stuff that couldn’t be developed in total isolation. Let alone in a horrid hell realm of infinite death and suffering.

Or perhaps, even more simply, it just depended on one’s biological age. 

It didn’t really matter either way since Neave was, this time, genuinely acting like an eleven-year-old kid. 

A toy he was excited about didn’t work as he had hoped, so he was crying and throwing a temper tantrum. 

The violet avatar spirit power was something special. Something he had placed many hopes on and something he truly believed would be a powerful secret weapon he could use. 

After he evolved it to gold rank, the power did, in fact, acquire an incredible ability. 

Possession. 

Neave could use the violet avatar to possess a corpse and manipulate it however he pleased. 

It still worked the same in virtually all other ways. He had to consciously manipulate the dead body so it wasn’t like necromancy. The possessed corpse could be stored in a special dimensional space, and any object it held would be taken with it. 

The instant he realized what the power did, he immediately got the best idea ever. 

If he possessed a slime, he would have the ultimate weapon. A puppet he could control, one that could grow in power infinitely, without any limits, and one that could grow to perfectly suit his every need. 

Yes, he would soon own the most incredible spirit power anyone had ever held! 

Except he wouldn’t because he forgot one crucial detail.

Once a monster died, its core became entirely inert. This meant that a dead slime was little more than an unmoving pile of goo. Dead monsters could no longer evolve. Not a big deal. He could just use… 

No, that was a pretty big deal. 

For example, if he did something like possess the corpse of a dragon, like the violet dragon he fought, he wouldn’t have access to the dragon’s puppets or any of its other powers. 

Everything from its supernatural strength, speed, breath, and even just the violet energy it used would be gone once the dragon was dead. 

There was also another critical issue with this power. The possession could only happen if the corpse were void of remnant spirit, which would only vacate the body well after the decomposition began. 

This wasn’t a problem for Neave, as he could simply purge the remnant spirit by washing it out with his liquid spirit. So he would at least avoid having to use a rotting body. 

This did little to assuage the other problems, however. 

Without the powers that drove them while alive, Corpses were primarily useless. 

Say he used the dead body of a cultivator. Their spirit would be gone, so their cultivation, or any of their abilities, including their spirit powers, would also be gone. 

A dead dude wasn’t the most reliable ally in combat. 

The power did have technicality that still gave Neave hope. Once a corpse was possessed, outwardly, the body would visibly morph. The skin turned purple, and it glowed with an ominous light. 

All of the details of the body would acquire a purple motif, and this wasn’t just a visual effect either. The power created a set of constructs that affected the function of different body parts. 

Usually, it would simply compensate for any deterioration, but with Neave’s remnant spirit purge, it could maintain a body… While it was still alive. 

The power wasn’t useless, so it shouldn’t be the end of the world if it were somewhat suboptimal. 

That didn’t stop Neave from bawling his eyes out. 

There was a simple reason why he was crying. Yes, this ability did have a lot of potential, and the type of experimentation it permitted was right down Neave’s alley. 

But it's just such a fucking chore. 

This didn’t really add anything new to the power. It was already something that had a lot of potential for experimentation. This just made the ability a bigger chore, and dare Neave say…

Outright weaker.

It could theoretically be as good, or better, than a more straightforward power, but only after a ton of work. He could use that time to dedicate it to the, you know, any of the countless other things he could still experiment with. 

So all he was granted with this ‘upgrade’ was a ton of extra work for little benefit. Once the shock of the evolution’s result wore off, Neave managed to calm himself. 

It was okay. After all, he could still upgrade the power again. No big deal. There was still a chance that the upgrade would alter something fundamental and grant him a much better power. 

So he sank into his spirit and evolved the power again. 

No dragon made its way to the top of his mountain, which was a plus, so Neave maintained his optimism as he tried sleeping through the trial again.

Once he was out of the trial, his face remained placid. 

Violet mist appeared on the ground before him. 

Seven completely identical tiny puppets appeared. And absolutely nothing else of consequence about the power had changed. 

Neave cried again. 

***

Gabrias lurked through the caves, keeping his ears open for any sign of demons scurrying about. 

For a long time, he heard nothing of note. Until he started hearing the cries. 

“What… What is with that demonic wailing!?” 

It must have been the demons, he thought. 

Rather than fear, Gabrias felt trepidation. Demons meant unique materials for his creations. Were they scary? Of course, they were! However, he held the Glass Shard, the mythical weapon crafted by none other than Lord Neave himself. 

Gabrias scoffed. Naturally, he would be fine. With a single swing, this mighty blade could cleave mountains. What could some slithery demon do to him? 

However, as he approached the sound, his anxiety rapidly built up. This whole section of the cave was strange. Glass shrubs were everywhere, and Gabrias kept jolting, tricked by his reflection into thinking he saw movement in the shadows. 

No problem, he thought. His eyes were that of someone on the bronze path. Darkness couldn’t entirely hide things from him. He would continue his journey bravely. 

Eventually, he walked into a massive room. Every single part of it was overgrown with glass shrubs. Something was deeply off about this room. Gabrias wasn’t insane like the others. He knew something was watching him. 

And sadly for him, he was right. 

The Glass Shard flew out of his hand by itself, and Gabrias gaped. He tried catching the blade. It wasn’t flying particularly fast. In fact, it seemed to be wavering unsteadily as it floated through the air. Gabrias tried grasping it, but its chaotic trajectory made it a considerable challenge. He ran after it anyway, not giving up the chase. That was Lord Neave’s creation. If he lost it, he would never live the shame down. 

A few seconds of clumsy fumbling later, Gabrias tripped and landed face-first on the ground. Lifting his head, he saw the sword fly into the hands of a glass puppet, and it lifted it, pointing it at Gabrias’ head. 

Wait… This was the glass puppet. Yet another of Lord Neave’s creations. How superb. Gabrias heaved a sigh of relief. Thank the heavens, he hadn’t lost the blade. It was merely repossessed by another of Lord Neave’s servants. 

Gabrias still felt a little sour, though. How would he hunt the demons now? He wasn’t a particularly proud man. Gabrias knew he would be screwed in serious combat against… Well… Anything even remotely threatening. 

Wait a minute… A genius idea had just popped into his mind!

Gabrias threw himself to the ground, prostrating before the glass puppet, “Oh, mighty attendant of the Lord, please grant this humble servant a favor!” 

The puppet slowly lowered the blade and cocked its head up. 

Gabrias continued, “Please, accompany me on a journey to purge this sacred realm of those impure demons that plague it!” He left the part about gathering leather for construction unsaid. 

Perhaps a nobler goal may appeal more to the puppet. 

The puppet cocked its head, clearly unsure of what Gabrias was talking about. 

Gabrias clearly understood what the shrub was trying to say, “Could it be… Do you not know of the corrupt demons that plague this realm?” 

The glass shrub bent back, shook its head, and wagged its index finger at Gabrias. Then, it straightened its posture, crossing its arms and opening the palm of its hand. 

Its message was clear. 

Who do you think I am? Of course, I know who they are! 

Oh, heavens, he may have insulted the puppet! Gabrias lowered his head further and continued, “Of course, naturally, forgive this little one’s disrespectful behavior! If you so wish, I will accept any punishment you deem fit!” 

The puppet paused at that. Then it stepped over to Gabrias and softly kicked him a bit. It quickly walked back and raised its head even higher, obviously pleased with itself. 

Gabrias kept repeatedly appealing to the glass shrub, and eventually, he followed as the puppet led the way. 

They had demons to purge. 

And, naturally, materials to gather! 

A lovely leather couch sounded like precisely the thing he should present to Lord Neave.

***

Platinum path cultivators were highly influential members of society. Naturally, their power was the main reason why. For cultivators of the platinum path and beyond, the masses loved fantasizing about the fantastical feats they could perform.

One such fantasy was that they could perceive everything around them, even while fully asleep. 

This was a myth, but only partially. Diamond path cultivators could do this. Platinum path cultivators couldn't. However, platinum path cultivators could still think, even when otherwise unconscious. 

This ability was quite convenient when someone was perpetually busy, as Marven was back when he was a sect master. And, well, as busy as he was in the nightmare realm. 

Marven was aware of the type of psychological challenges isolation could bring. Many a cultivator left secluded cultivation with a shakier grasp on their sanity than before entering. 

This realm, however, was on an entirely different level. The constant darkness, bone-piercing cold, and the uncertainty and terror of the outside made for a horrible environment for one’s sanity. 

Worst of all was that all of them knew that they would eventually die inside this realm. Everyone had to live knowing they would perish one day, but there was one crucial difference. 

They knew that, at least, they wouldn’t have to live on with the memories of how it happened. 

Marven and the others didn’t have that privilege. 

He had been confident at first. If alone, he could maintain his mental health just fine by following known principles when isolated. 

While juggling the mental health of four others that had no idea how to do it? 

There was simply no way. 

Inside this nightmare realm, you didn’t feel ‘tired.’ You were either exhausted, anxious, or both. So when did you sleep? How did you keep track of a healthy sleep schedule when you couldn’t even keep track of time or rely on your body to do it for you? 

You didn’t. You just didn’t. 

Given that his hair had grown out to its full length and even had to be cut once, Marven knew that months had passed at the very least. 

What the hell was Neave doing, anyway? Why was it taking so long? And why was he avoiding talking to them? 

They had so many problems and virtually no way to solve them without Neave’s help! 

Marven was losing his fucking mind, and it was constantly getting worse. The others were a wreck already, Harel looked ready to die from stress, and the others weren’t faring much better. 

They were running out of time. Dying from insanity, either by suicide or otherwise, was a threat, but the even more significant threat was the long-term consequences this experience would leave on them once they left.

It was time. Marven decided. This constituted a severe crisis. He had to go find Neave. 

Marven forced himself awake and…

Awoke in the main room of their base, naked, bald, and surrounded by the others, who had suffered the same fate. 

…Yeah.

It may already be too late.