Chapter 139: Chapter 137: Ten-thousand fingers snap to signal the breaking of the dark spell

Thousands of eyes fill every span of lightlessness from here to as far as his eyes can manage to see in this strange, illusionary plane that he is on. Hineni wobbles, rising to his feet as he looks behind him.

 

— The fake Seltsam is gone.

 

The illusion, forced into being by so many various violent collisions of godly magic, is beginning to come undone.

 

The man makes a note to grovel at the librarian’s feet when he gets out here.

 

Each of the yellow eyes tears open just a little wide, the edges of each ripping apart the fabric of total darkness as if they were hands, tearing holes into black fabric.

 

“OBSCURA!” calls Hineni up to the thousands of stars that fill the night, already knowing that she sees him.

 

A raspy, hoarse laughter comes from the distance as the god of death sits on his throne, his white strands of hair blowing in the wind. “Pitiful,” says the entity. The wind howls; the millions of spirits of the dead who fill the endless nothingness around them, wailing in torment as they fly around in the endless maelstrom. The skeletal god lifts a finger and then, an instant later, masses of dead shoot upward, blasting into hundreds of the eyes, covering them in darkness. “Owls, stars,” begins the god of death. “Both are simply things that will die out and return to nothingness. Everything dies and returns to nothingness.”

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Hineni rushes forward, but he can’t move past the barrier that holds him away from the god. No matter how often he runs towards the throne, he just feels like he’s always at the exact same spot.

 

The man hisses, holding his hands up past his face to block the wind, as more and more of stars fall dark.

 

— A hand grabs his shoulder, strong and firm.

 

Hineni looks behind himself in surprise, seeing Rhine standing there. “…Rhine?”

 

The boy winks. “That’s Rhine - River-wizard,” he starts. “Don’t forget it,” says the young man, stepping forward and holding his hands out in front of himself, his azure strands of hair flowing wildly in the tempest like waves on the ocean’s surface. His boots stand firmly, spread strong and stable without a box of any kind to be seen as he holds a trained, competent posture.

 

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