Chapter 946: The Diverging Paths of Fate

“In fact, Master Nostradamus, the Steel Python of the Karlis world had helped me with an experiment some time ago, and it was proven then that a Steel Python indeed possesses partial attributes of meme lifeforms. That is why normal beings cannot not see it, and only Legendary champions who have transcended their preexisting living hierarchy can witness its true face.”

In fact, the crux of divine power was unobservable to normal humans as well. Even the information spawned from within divine light was not to be viewed directly through the eyes of ordinary humans.

“…But, why?” At that point, Nostradamus had been rather frightened by the idea Joshua was conveying with his tone. The old mage rubbed the bridge of his tone and exhaled, before asking in curiosity, “Fine. Even if you are able create Steel Pythons through human means, what meaning is there? Though they are powerful and possess unique attributes, they probably wouldn’t compare with your level now.”

Having the hands with which you just molded a star alone, ordinary Steel Pythons could well be your docile, adorable pets!

“You’re right, there’s not much meaning.”

Joshua did not retort, instead answering quietly, “But understanding the birth of Steel Pythons would perhaps unravel initial clues about the meme system—there are times when the most important key to progress is always hidden in the most insignificant things.”

“Moreover…” The warrior then paused, and then slowly continued, “The truth of what lies behind is never that simple… that’s why I’m telling you this now.”

***

Presently, while Joshua and Nostradamus silently flew in the silence of the Void and discussed the matter that involved the peak of Extraordinary powers;

While every envoy of each civilization was left stunned by news of the impending invasion of an Evil God horde in the General Assembly, and were looking around for someone to deny it;

While the Seven Gods moved worlds and adjusted parameters in a hidden planetary system at the edge of the galaxies, laboring away with heart and soul day and night for every civilization and every race’s future in the millennia to come;

While the diverse civilizations in the Multiverse each implemented their plans for border expansion, sealed their territories, reformed internally, or developed their technology;

While countless intelligent life in the Multiverse still lived in ignorance, unaware at all that their future was being threatened…

In the vastness of universal vacuum, a starfighter had been struck by a missile—it shook and rotated as it crashed down on a nearby planet, just as its Midgardian pilot prayed. “Mother Tree, Spirits, Ruler of Blaze and Infernal God. This life of your adherent is at an end, but I beg not for your compassionate salvation nor a gentle end, for I know profoundly my weakness and incompetence, the terror and reluctance I show in death.”

Like a falling star, the starfighter stroke a chain of fiery light in the atmosphere that even the best pilot could not hope to recover from. The sky and earth whirled rapidly outside the cockpit canopy like the lights flashing before one’s death, and yet the nameless pilot did not mention the terror, instead watching the sights beyond in parting reluctance and prayed quietly, “I don’t ask for salvation or pity, but that my soul is still able to fight against all evil and malice in death, until…”

Boom!

The starfighter struck ground, kicking up faint, traceless sparks in the universe.

No one noticed it.

For in the boundless vacuum of the planetary quadrant, thousands of warships and a hundred times more starfighters were exchanging fire with the enemy that outnumbered them by the dozens, even hundreds. The empty space was filled with psionic beams and warships that were immobilized, dismantled, or simply hovering partially in vacuum. Like the previous starfighter, some of them were billowing dense smoke and blaze, begrudgingly and helplessly crashing down to the very planet they should have been protecting.

Boom.

A rather bright flame flashed on the planet’s surface, its psionic core detonating in a mushroom cloud that was over sixty-two kilometers tall and emanating radiation that the world could never hope to heal from.

But it was still insignificant.

If one was to look up towards the stars, they would see that the once dazzling stars had now become spotted, and the zodiac formation the Midgardians were familiar with had become mostly incomplete. All of them were perhaps lost, dimmed, shrouded, or hidden. Indeed, any person familiar with the skies would look up to find some of the remaining stars shining excessively brighter than before.

Boom!

There was a burst of radiance, and it was the light of decimation that half the galaxy could witness clearly—the end of a star. That was the sound the universe could hear—a noticeable echo.

Amongst the stars, the fleet was being beaten on every turn. It was clearly a major Federation composed of diverse races, but they were showing gradual signs of collapse. In fact, many warships were discreetly turning tail and fleeing the battlefield at full speed. They knew that the battle was lost—against the Chaos spawn that outnumbered them by the hundreds, the encircled Federation armada had no other option other than to flee or die.

Still, it was a fleet detachment amongst the Federation’s armada who appeared composed of biological components, like plants and wood which stubbornly remained by their post and stood against their foes, fighting until their very last moment.

There was neither hate, rage, nor despair. The Midgardians were a psionic race of plants that would calmly face the apocalypse, death, and despair, serenely resisting them and serenely meeting their end.

Even so, regardless of their courage and resolve, the Midgardians could never help it in the face of death, but to pray.

***

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In the Zeta Ram system of the Galaxy of Beginnings in the Multiverse, Legendary champions Vahina and Barbarossa stood upon the platform in the conference hall of the General Assembly, both of them looking around the venue calmly at every civilization’s envoy present.

Everyone’s facial expressions, or spiritual, electromagnetic, and psionic presences, along with their magical energies and elements which hummed faintly or lifeforce that stirred agitatedly, could be perceived clearly by both Legends, with each reaction of every individual present within expectations.

They were suspicious, shocked, ponderous, or in denial.

They were also bewildered, anguished, enraged, or in epiphany.

When the Legends had informed the envoys about the Evil Gods, the major civilization extinction, the theoretical truth of how the Multiverse came to be, as well as the deduced origins of the Great Mana Tide which were of decimated remains of galaxies, that had been the reaction of every civilization’s representative.

Vahina and Barbarossa knew that pain well and therefore did not belittle them. The pair had experienced that process then, only triumphing over despair and fear through great conviction that they did not choose to cower.

Indeed, there were two ways to a make a better person—one was to infect them with love so that they would unwittingly imitate the good and assume the path of the righteous, and another was to threaten them with fear, tormenting them so that they experienced everything, thus eventually being reborn in flames and finding their right path.

And now, it was the moment for the civilizations to select the path of their future.

“It’s almost time.”

The clock’s needles had rotated over dozens of circles, its tick-tock sounds a music of mysterious rhythm. Vahina smiled as she surveyed the many envoys who were communicating with herself through various means—the Mycroft civilization would have aided them even if they did not possess any—before interrupting them without any sense of urgency. “The First General Assembly concludes here. That being said, honorable ambassadors, you would understand soon enough that we are neither paranoid or threatening your kind. What we have revealed here is the mother of all realities, the truth we uncovered when observing the Multiverse from the Lost Galaxy.”

“Therefore…” Barbarossa continued with a low voice, his middle-aged face looking around the hall impassively, “You have three days to consider signing the agreement to join us in fighting the Horde, to participate in the organization who would uphold Order and safeguard the future. As you have seen, we will not demand any territorial or sovereign authority, and would instead do all we can to disseminate technology, instructing you in assuming the correct path. We ask for one thing only—that you would not give up on hope and resistance in the face of Chaos.”

The conference hall was at once silent. Only the Rund’s humming throb of electromagnetism from his body extended.

“Ahem.”

Finally, Vahina glanced at the time and concluded, “Honorable ambassadors, there is still seventy-one hours, fifty-nine minutes and fifty-eight seconds.” The lady, whose face was inscrutable, lifted her chin and shrugged. “The pen to sign the agreement is right in front of you.

“Choose.”

***

At the edge of the Zeta Ram system, the God of Steel who was hurrying along stopped suddenly.

“What’s going on, Joshua?”

Nostradamus naturally noticed the oddness in his friend while journeying beside his friend. He could see Joshua furrowing his brow, knowing for certain that something had happened and therefore nervously asked, “Could it be that an Evil God has appeared?”

“Yes… no. It’s neither a yes nor a no.”

Joshua had now closed both eyes and blocked out all noise to listen for that voice from faraway… he can hear staticky communication and violent exchange of gunfire, the reverberations of Psi and the raging howls of the crew as warships crashed into the atmosphere.

He, Joshua, could hear it clearly with his individual power, transcendent of distance towards the other side of the stars—the prayers invoking him, or indeed for future and hope. The warrior’s face gradually became solemn and somber as he listened to the prayers, before reverting to dispassionateness. It left Nostradamus, who was watching beside him, unwittingly nervous.

“Joshua?” he asked the warrior softly, afraid of disturbing him. “What’s actually happening?”

“Someone’s praying to me,” Joshua replied calmly as he stood in the Void. “They are neither beseeching for salvation or aid, but only for hope that they can keep fighting… but they need help. It’s normal to aid them since they’ve prayed, and it’s nothing something that could be refused with some excuse like ‘unmentioned’.” At those words, Joshua made his choice, but soon frowned again, having remembered another matter.

The unusual happenings at the Amos Court had been going on for some time, just as it had similarly been with the Takur Ruin Cult. The two Class Five civilizations had only spent their capacity in mutual slaughter without expansion, and therefore resembled Class Fours in appearance—but now, both were behaving unusually, with the Seven Gods having mentioning it before and entrusting him to take a look.

It was an equally important matter, since only Evil Gods could simultaneously cause anomalies in two supercivilizations. Furthermore, having witnessed the power of those entities before, the Mycroft civilization also knew that only something on the scale of the Evil God of Death could stir a ruckus major enough to trouble those two.

However, there was also no doubt that the Midgardians of Stellaris who were engaged in battle was at a disadvantage. The major Chaos purge which Star the Steel Python had organized must have been in a stalemate then, with both Chaos and Order missing a decisive force that could push the present state forward.

If he did not go, the vastness of Stellaris would probably have fallen into the hands of Evil Gods, should the Chaos dispatch reinforcement. The Ether Ring World paled in comparison to those two matters. He could simply leave a clone who could perform grand scale construction and the required mass and leave it to the Seven Gods’ control—it would complete the task to fill the world with matter, albeit making it harder for the Seven Gods.

Hence the dilemma—to either inspect the unusual movements of the Amos Court and the Takur Ruin Cult in the local Galaxy of Bloodbath, or to head for distant Stellaris and answer the Midgardians’ prayer to defeat Chaos and its spawns? Even someone as decisive as Joshua could not decide at once… in fact, there was a clear premonition in his mind for some reason.

And it was that the two choices would have led to a series of major events, with one causing anomaly in two top galactic civilizations and another leaving an entire universe on the brink. Both were very important, and there was no doubt that the fate and future of everything, including the Multiverses, would henceforth assume two distinct, diverging paths from his choice.

It was the time to choose.