He felt their gaze upon him.
They were things that existed beyond time and space, presences that did not belong to creation and yet pressed against it from the outside, watching from a place that could not be named or reached, their attention seeping through the cracks of reality.
They observed him from everywhere and nowhere at once, their awareness vast and suffocating, filled with a cold and ancient malice that defied comprehension, as though the mere act of being perceived by them was an intrusion upon something that had no right to acknowledge his existence.
...
"You look tired," Cain said calmly as they walked through the park, their steps unhurried beneath the open sky.
"I'm a god," Haruki replied absentmindedly. "I don't get tired."
"Not physically," Cain said, his tone even as he paused to observe a white pigeon that had just landed upon a nearby tree, his attention momentarily drawn to its quiet stillness.
Haruki did not respond. Speaking with his sister, allowing himself to open the sealed chambers of his guilt and lay bare everything he had done and failed to do, had demanded far more of him than he had anticipated.
He had expected that finding her, saving her, and finally speaking the words he had carried for so long would ease the weight pressing against his chest. He had believed that an apology, repeated enough times, might somehow lessen the burden of what had happened.
It had not.
The memories remained unchanged, as sharp and as unforgiving as ever, and the sense of failure clung to him with an intransigence that refused to fade. Worse still, he had come to realize, in the quiet moments that followed, how selfish he had been. The entire conversation had revolved around him, around his guilt, his regrets, his need for absolution.
He had spoken of what he could have done differently, of how he had failed, as though that alone held meaning. He had apologized again and again, clinging to the illusion that those words might carry weight, that they might somehow undo what had been done. Yet in doing so, he had overlooked the one person who mattered most in that moment.
His sister!
She was the one who had endured everything. She was the one who had lived with the consequences, who had carried the pain and the guilt, who had borne the weight of believing that their parents' deaths were her fault.
She had been the one left to suffer in silence, to rebuild herself from what remained. And instead of focusing on her, instead of asking her what she had gone through, what she needed, he had turned the moment into something centered on himself. He had sought relief from his own burden rather than offering to share hers.
He had not only failed in the past, he had failed again in the present, repeating the same mistake under the guise of remorse. There was a bitterness in that thought, a deep, corrosive self-loathing that he could not easily dismiss.
He despised the part of himself that had done it, the part that still sought comfort even when he knew he did not deserve it. It was not enough that he had caused her suffering once. He had, in a different way, done it again.
"Why did you do nothing all this time if you knew about Them?" Haruki asked at last, his voice calm as he turned his attention to Cain. "Why did you choose to slumber?"
Cain remained silent for a moment, his expression thoughtful as he considered the question.
"I was…am tired," he said at last with a soft sigh. "I am still tired, Haruki. How long has it been? Ten thousand years? Twenty? Thirty? I no longer remember. Time loses its meaning after a certain point. I have existed since the beginning, and for a long time I believed I would continue until the end. My immortality is absolute. I will outlive all others of my kind, and all others beyond them. When I learned of Them, truly understood what awaited, all I could do was laugh. There would be no release for me, no mercy of death. Eventually, I would fall into their hands."
Haruki studied him in silence, a quiet sense of pity stirring within him. Cain was the oldest human, burdened with the weight of the first and perhaps the greatest sin, condemned to carry it for eternity. Humans were not meant to exist forever, and the toll it took was evident. There was something broken within him, something worn down by the sheer passage of time. Haruki could not help but wonder if he too would reach that point, if he would one day look upon existence with the same exhaustion.
"Wouldn't that give you more reason to resist Them?" Haruki asked. "The prospect of endless torment at the hands of something beyond comprehension doesn't seem particularly appealing."
"I saw no point in it," Cain replied simply.
Haruki said nothing further. Cain had lived far too long, had settled into a mindset that could not easily be altered. There was little to be gained in attempting to change it now. The only thing Haruki could offer him was the promise he had already made, to fulfill his end when the time came.
Cain lifted his hand slightly, and with a small, casual gesture, a red portal tore open in the space before them, its edges rippling as though reality itself had been parted.
"Shall we?" Cain said, his tone carrying a faint trace of courtesy as he gestured toward it.
Haruki nodded, and together they stepped through.
They emerged into the dimension gap, a place that defied all conventional understanding. It was a realm where existence and nonexistence coexisted in a paradox that could not be reconciled.
It was both emptiness and fullness, both absence and presence, a state that existed before creation and would remain after its end. It was here that the first stirrings of existence had taken form, where the earliest gods had emerged, where Ophis herself had been born alongside the first expressions of reality.
There was nothing, and yet within that nothing lay the potential for everything. It was a void that had never been and would never be, and at the same time it was a space in which possibility itself stirred, unfolding endlessly where once there had been absolute absence. It was the pulse of eternity, a place where the boundaries of past, present, and future held no meaning, where existence itself seemed to rise and collapse in an endless cycle.
With his newfound awareness, Haruki could perceive what others could not. He could feel the passage of souls as they drifted through this boundless expanse, drifting in currents that did not follow any discernible direction. They existed everywhere and nowhere at once, fragments of existence in transit between states.
He could see the emergence of new life, souls taking form before descending into the material world, and he could sense the lingering echoes of those who had passed beyond it. It became clear to him that this was both a place of passage and formation, where souls were shaped before being given form.
Most beings would never perceive this reality. To them, the dimension gap was nothing more than a void of corrosive energy, a hostile expanse that consumed anything that entered it. Only those of immense power, beings who transcended the limitations of ordinary existence, could glimpse its true nature.
For material beings lacking sufficient strength, entry into this realm meant immediate dissolution, their forms unraveling as they were absorbed into the primordial essence that defined the gap. Even those protected by magic of a lower caliber could only endure it for a brief period before succumbing. The energy here was overwhelming, a force that could not be resisted by anything bound to physical existence.
Haruki, however, was no longer bound in that way. The primordial energy did not reject him. The opposite in fact. It welcomed him, recognized him, responded to him as though he were something intrinsic to its nature. As he moved through it, it parted around him, yielded to him, as though he belonged within it. Like an ancient being returning to its origin, he stepped forward, and the void carried him as though he were an extension of itself.
He and Cain moved through the endless expanse, and as they did, Haruki became increasingly aware of the presence that lingered beyond it. The gaze he had felt before grew stronger, more defined, pressing against his awareness with greater intensity.
He could hear something then, faint at first, a murmur that did not resemble any language known to existence, a sound that seemed to originate from beyond reality itself.
It was not meant to be understood. It could not be understood. It did not belong to this world, nor to any world that could be conceived. It was something else entirely, something that existed beyond the framework of comprehension itself.
For most, such voices would have been enough to shatter the mind, to erode sanity until nothing remained. Haruki endured it without faltering. For him, a lack of resolve had never been the issue.
"What will you do now?" Cain asked suddenly as they flew.
"Now?"
"I mean after bestowing humanity with magic," Cain clarified. "The other races still have an overwhelming advantage when it comes to the arcane arts, and humanity will stand before them like an ignorant caveman who has only just discovered fire. And with Yeshua's ritual failing, every monster lurking in the shadows will emerge to prey upon those same ignorant masses, shaping them into instruments for their own designs."
That was one of the problems that had delayed his plans. Even if he granted humanity access to magic, the other races would not remain idle and allow them the luxury of developing at their own pace.
They had no desire to see humanity rise as an independent force capable of rivaling them, let alone uniting into something greater than the fractured whole it currently was.
It was far more likely that the various supernatural factions would descend upon humanity the moment the opportunity presented itself, selecting individuals of promise and molding them into weapons, pawns, or devoted followers, each faction carving out its own sphere of influence while ensuring humanity remained divided, dependent, and ultimately subordinate.
To give humanity magic without granting them the time and isolation necessary to understand it would be no different than casting a defenseless creature into a den of predators while arming it with a blade it did not yet know how to wield.
They would not be given the opportunity to grow. They would be consumed, assimilated, or broken apart, their potential squandered before it had the chance to truly take root. Magic, in that context, would become a chain that bound them ever tighter to the will of others.
He wants it to be a tool of liberation.
"I mean to take inspiration from God," Haruki replied calmly. "I want to give humanity time to become familiar with magic on their own through trial and error without the other races meddling in their development."
"Oh? You mean…" Cain said, amusement flickering in his voice.
"Yes," Haruki replied. "I will seal off Earth and keep all supernatural races out of it for a certain amount of time."
"And how will you do that?" Cain asked. "That's beyond even your near-omnipotent power. Even after you master your abilities, it will remain beyond you. Yahweh would have done it if such a thing were possible. Only beings on the level of the Dragon Gods could hope to accomplish something like that."
Haruki could, in theory, construct a barrier that encompassed the entirety of Earth. Power was not the issue. He possessed more than enough for such a task. The true problem lay in the nature of what he was attempting to create.
A barrier capable of repelling potentially billions of beings, many of whom were gods or creatures of comparable magnitude. The concept itself was too absolute. To create a barrier that could keep every possible entity out of Earth was akin to forging a weapon that could slay any being without exception.
Such absolutes demanded true omnipotence, and any construct born from a finite existence, no matter how vast its power, would itself remain finite, bound by limitations that could be challenged, eroded, or overcome.
Even Christ's ritual had only managed to separate the material world from the spiritual one in a categorical sense, and even that monumental achievement was not permanent, its gradual erosion inevitable, and its creation dependent on the combined effort of the Trimurti.
Haruki, for all his strength, remained finite. He could impose conditions, of course. He could design a barrier that excluded devils above a certain rank, or one that prevented dragons from entering, or one that restricted specific pantheons. But it would not solve the problem. Such measures would always leave gaps, and those gaps would be exploited.
Any system that relied on selective exclusion would fail to achieve the comprehensive isolation he required. The faction left unrestrained would seize the opportunity to infiltrate and manipulate humanity, rendering the entire endeavor meaningless.
"It's not as though I hadn't considered that," Haruki said calmly. "But Katerea told me something interesting when I first met her."
"And what was that?" Cain asked.
"Ophis's plan," Haruki said with a faint smile. "The Dragon God of Infinity wishes to return to her home and drive Great Red out of the Dimensional Gap. That's why she formed the Khaos Brigade, and why she was so willing to grant Katerea and the others her serpents to amplify their power. She seeks to gather individuals strong enough to challenge Great Red."
"No wonder she's called the idiot Dragon God," Cain said with a sigh.
"I wouldn't go that far," Haruki replied with a slight shrug. "She's not foolish so much as she is… simplistic. It likely never occurred to her that no matter how much power she bestows upon a collection of fundamentally inadequate individuals, they would never be capable of harming Great Red, nor even so much as leaving a mark upon him. She also fails to understand that every member of the Khaos Brigade is exploiting her for their own ends, with no intention of ever fulfilling her desire. To them, she's a source of power, nothing more, and once she has served her purpose, they would discard her without hesitation."
"And what does Ophis have to do with your plan?" Cain asked.
"I want her to power the barrier," Haruki replied. "She's the Dragon God of Infinity. If the structure of the barrier is sufficiently sophisticated, and if it's sustained by her endless power, then it can be what I need it to be, capable of excluding every supernatural entity from Earth."
"I see," Cain said. "So you intend to exploit her for your own purposes as well?"
"More or less," Haruki admitted. "Though I wouldn't call it exploitation. It would be a mutual agreement. I assist her in achieving her goal, and she, in turn, lends me her power. Unlike the Khaos Brigade, I intend to honor that agreement."
"Do you?" Cain asked skeptically. "You're aware of the importance of Great Red remaining within the Dimensional Gap, right? He mustn't leave it, and any attempt to remove him would directly conflict with your own interests."
"I have a plan for that," Haruki said with a soft smile.
"Very well," Cain replied, returning the smile faintly. "Keep your secrets. Even so, a barrier sustained by Ophis wouldn't last indefinitely. How much time do you believe you can secure for humanity?"
"Approximately twenty-five years," Haruki answered. "Christ's barrier will fully erode within a year and a half. It should have lasted longer, but my birth has accelerated its deterioration. I need to complete my own barrier before that happens."
"Twenty-five years, huh?" Cain repeated, his tone distant. "Five years before the apocalypse begins..."
"Yes," Haruki said. "I can only hope that, when faced with a common and overwhelming threat, humanity will finally abandon its divisions and rise as a single, unified force, out of necessity."
"Hope?" Cain asked. "Can't you simply see the outcome with your future sight?"
"I could," Haruki replied. "But I choose not to. There's no meaning in living if every moment is already known. I would rather remain uncertain and be surprised."
Cain offered no response, and they continued onward in silence.
As they flew, Haruki felt it. The gazes and whispers. The suffocating awareness of being observed from beyond the boundaries of existence. The closer they moved toward the boundary of existence, the more intense the presence became. The unseen watchers pressed closer, their attention sharpening, their voices growing louder, pressing against his mind with a weight that defied comprehension.
And then he saw it. A barrier of incomprehensible scale stretched before him, a construct of pure divinity that encircled all of creation in all its totality. A single fragment of its expanse contained within it the suggestion of an endless whole, a thing so immense that the mind could not trace its boundaries, yet somehow understood that it enclosed everything that was, everything that had been, and everything that could ever be.
Its surface shimmered with a radiance that was neither light nor energy, but something more fundamental, a manifestation of power so absolute that reality itself seemed to bow in silent acknowledgment of its presence. Layers upon layers of intricate patterns unfolded across it, each one carrying meaning that eluded comprehension, something meticulously designed to hold back that which lay beyond.
And beyond it…
He saw them.
The gazes that had followed him since the moment he became aware of them revealed themselves at last, and in that instant, Haruki felt something he had never experienced before. Terror, raw and absolute, seized him.
His mind struggled to interpret what lay before him, grasping desperately for familiar shapes, for anything that could anchor the incomprehensible into something that could be understood. He perceived eyes, countless eyes, scattered across an expanse that had no true form, each one staring with an awareness that was vast, ancient, and utterly alien.
There were shapes that resembled tentacles, writhing and coiling in motions that defied any coherent geometry, folding into themselves and emerging elsewhere without transition. There were masses that suggested flesh, yet carried no true substance, shifting and consuming themselves in cycles that had no beginning or end.
Forms that appeared to crawl, to devour, to merge and separate, all at once, all without order, yet bound together in a way that implied a unity far beyond anything he could comprehend.
His mind insisted on categorizing them, on reducing them to something familiar, drawing comparisons to creatures he knew, to patterns he recognized, but every attempt rang hollow, each conclusion unraveling the moment it formed. What he saw was not truly eyes, nor tentacles, nor flesh. Those were merely the desperate interpretations of a mind confronted with something that existed entirely outside the framework of understanding.
At first, it seemed as though it was a single entity, an immeasurable being stretching across an infinite expanse, devouring itself in an endless cycle of existence. Then that perception fractured, and he began to distinguish separate presences, distinct yet intertwined, each one emanating its own incomprehensible will.
There were thirteen of them.
Thirteen vast and formless entities, each one gazing upon him with a presence that carried a different shade of madness, a different expression of malice, as though each embodied a concept that could not be named, only felt, and even that feeling threatened to tear his consciousness apart.
The moment their attention settled fully upon him, something inside him broke. Indescribable pain erupted across his entire being, something that struck at the very foundation of his existence. His vision shattered, colors bleeding into one another as his perception warped beyond recognition.
Blood poured from his eyes, his nose, his mouth, his ears, flowing freely as though his body could no longer contain itself. His tears turned crimson, thick and viscous, trailing down his face as his scream tore itself from his throat, raw and unrestrained.
He felt something moving beneath his skin.
Maggots.
They crawled from his eyes, forcing their way through the blood, spilling from his mouth as he choked on them, writhing across his face, burrowing into his flesh even as they devoured it. They consumed one another, a writhing mass of pale bodies tearing and feeding in an endless frenzy, their existence a grotesque reflection of what he had just witnessed beyond the barrier.
His scream did not stop. It could not stop. It stretched into eternity, a sound born from a mind that had been forced to glimpse something it was never meant to perceive, something that could never be understood.
AN: What do you think of Haruki's plan?
If you enjoy my writing and would like to support the story, consider checking out my Patreon. You'll get access to up to four chapters in advance and can vote on which story gets updated next: abeltargaryen/ Patreon