NameIess

The Witherlord faced the storm unperturbed. From his blade emanated an aura of darkness, consuming the locusts that would have otherwise struck him. Calm despite the raging winds whipping at his essence, he continued to consider the Plotblade’s identity. Chaos was a promising possibility. Though it would hardly be a Plotblade. A Chaosblade, then? But, so far as he knew, Chaos still lived. Far weaker than in times past, but living nonetheless. Well, the only one who could give definitive answers was Charnaster. And so the Witherlord raised his sword, pointing it towards the shining point of light amidst the maelstrom. A web of darkness launched forth, burning through locusts and winds alike as it hurtled towards the maddened being.

Walls of Nullite shall not hold you. The Witherlord’s voice spoke. not when they are but walls. Strike not at them, but reality itself. — That there were three Rebus cared for would have been news to the Witherlord, though given how protective Rebus was being of Atlas, it would not be difficult to guess the third. — The Dreamsmith smiled as he worked, noticing Rebus’s look of interest. “A Luxite amulet, a shield from all darkness.” — “I… do not.” Lyric said nervously. By the sprites, he could still hear the tone! Distant was its source, but to hear the tone of darkness at such distance, that source must be terrible indeed. “Perhaps a song?” He asked, though for once he did not much feel like singing. The Witherlord counted the other three there. Magenta, center, and the new guardian he had not met. “I take it I am included in the four?” He reached to his back and slowly drew Malevolence from its sheath, wondering what the Plotblade’s name truly was. Plagues, perhaps? Unknowable seemed too obvious. Eldritch gods perhaps.

"Find one, you mean? I don't think they generally speak to mortals." Lyric pointed out. "Although this high priest of Plot probably speaks to his deity. And presumably he'll speak to us, so it's practically the same thing! Shall we be on our way?" The pain continued despite the disabled pain receptors, resonating from the clone's soul as it was corrupted, changed. The Mordite spikes jutted further from his flesh, then retracted beneath his skin. The corruption finishing its course, the pain finally faded, though it did not entirely vanish. The clone could feel the Mordite beneath his skin, ready to come forth at his call. The transformation was complete. "Good." The Witherlord said as he left. "I look forward to breaking you and destroying everything... and everyone you care about." The Dreamsmith listened to the conversation as he worked on the crystalline necklace.

Is that a ‘I don’t remember them’ cough, a ‘I remember them’ cough, or a ‘no one remembers Fog either’ cough? Subversion froze. “Repeating the Dreamsmith’s question won’t work.” She said. “I… won’t deny that I do care. Even now, with you separated, I care. About good and evil, struggles, development. About…” her cheeks flushed slightly. “About what started all of this in the first place, stupid though it may be.” Her grey eyes darkened. “But if there’s no reason to care, even after you searched the entire Thread for one, then why should I bother? The Author might-fine, does care for us, but he cares for villain and hero alike. We are words on a page to him, and while he might weep at our suffering, he will also enjoy the sorrow he feels. He will look on it with pride if he makes himself feel sorrow.” Subversion took a step towards the traveler, voice rising as she continued her speech. ”Why do I care? I’ll tell you why. Because our Author wants me to care. Wants me to care so that I will struggle, suffer, and fail as his own character destroys everything good about this Thread!” Subversion took another step towards the traveler, trembling with emotion. Her next words were a hissed whisper, burning with anger. ”So you tell me. Why should I, knowing what I know, seeing what I see, care about any of it. Why should I suffer? For our Author’s amusement? No. It is better to simply cast it aside, excise any part of me that cares, and become as Nameless was. He lived during the times of the Witherlord. He knew not to care. Until he didn’t. Caring is what prevented him from defeating the Witherlord, caring is what got him killed. Why should I not learn from the mistakes of the past?” The traveler shivered. She… understood Subversion. Hard not to, being a splinter of her. And yet… there was something about the Dreamsmith’s words. Another question came to her mind. ”I think,” she spoke slowly, “that the Dreamsmith meant to tell me that everyone needs to find their own answer to this question. He gave me his, and… well, you know what it was. It didn’t convince me, but…” She took a deep breath, steeling herself, and met Subversion’s eyes. ”I think a better question is: why do you not want to care?” Subversion blinked. “I just told you. There’s no point. It’s not practical. It made Name- “Malevolence cares.” Interrupted the traveler. “He cares about evil. About being evil and doing evil and hating and killing. That is why he has claimed the Witherlord, because he cares. His care has driven him to push himself, to reach for an impossible goal and succeed.” She took a step towards Subversion. “If Nameless had cared more, if he had decided to save his friend from the Mantle, would he have succeeded? Maybe. But if he hadn’t cared at all, then he never would’ve tried to stop the Witherlord. He would’ve been a monster, even worse than what he sometimes was. Caring is practical, a practical means to make the Author care about your goals.” Subversion scoffed, taking a half step back. “Monster? Bah. Whatever Nameless did, it was words on a page. Meaningless. The story is the only thing that can have worth- “Stories are words!” Snapped the traveler. “Stories have meaning because the characters in them care. Because we care. Nameless understood that, and gave up his Narration in return for the ability to care. If the story matters so much, then don’t just observe it from the outside! Become part of it! Care about the story, and the people in it.” The traveler advanced, stepping forward until she was eye to eye with Subversion, eye to eye with herself. ”Do you know why you don’t want to care?” She asked softly. “It’s not because you can’t think of a reason to. Not really. It’s because you’re-we’re afraid. Afraid that we will lose what we care about. Afraid that what we care about really will turn out to be meaningless. That’s why no reason will be sufficient. Because no reason to care can assure us that we won’t hurt, can prove that what we care about really matters. And so choosing to care about nothing seems so much easier.” The traveler took one final step forward, and wrapped Subversion in a hug. “But even if it doesn’t matter, we can still care about it. Even if we lose what we care about, it is better to care and lose than to not care at all. Subversion, listen to me. If you choose not to care, to cut out your every emotion, you will never feel pain again. But you will also never feel joy. You will never be happy. Isn’t it better, even in a meaningless world, to have a chance at joy?” The traveler stepped back, letting her arms fall to her sides. She closed her eyes, and awaited Subversion’s decision. Subversion stared at the traveler, the fragment of herself, and came to her decision.

“Evil turns away none with the strength to seek it.” The Witherlord replied. “I accept your service. As for your task… at the moment, I have need of little save for information. Go, find out what plans are being made against me. I have business elsewhere.” the Witherlord turned, and vanished through a tear in reality. — The Witherlord appeared before the Guardians of Plot. “What blade do you offer to me?” @Aeoryi — Subversion looked at the traveler. “It is far far past time we got this over with. I doubt anyone even remembers who you are,” she said dismissively, then, ruefully said, ”or even who I am. I’ve seen your journey, and I know you’ve found no answer. So I see no point in conversation.” Subversion stared at the Traveler, then, grudgingly, continued quietly. “You… did well. Put in good effort. But you were trying to find an answer to a question that, so far as I can see, cannot be answered.” With a wave of Subversion’s hand, the traveler began to lose existence. The color left her, her features faded into obscurity. Soon, she would be but words, and then naught but memory. The traveler gasped in horror. “Wait!” She cried desperately. “I… I have a question for you!” Subversion paused, and the fading halted. The traveler took a deep breath. “Why,” she asked slowly, “do you care?”

"Excellent. For now, deal with Atlas and this copy of Rebus. I have... other matters to attend." @Keke @DragonHeir The Witherlord turned to Myles. "What proposal is this?"

The Withergeists fled in terror before Sanguine, weakened by the light from Heaven.

The withergeists do not appear, instead skulking in the shadows, hiding from Sanguine’s wrath.

I'm interested to see your reaction to Yumi and the Nightmare Painter. You should definitely read that one soon.

"I will ask him to carry it, then." The Witherlord considered interfering personally. No, I must focus on what is important. Sanguine will likely fail, and watching his attack will give me information on Heaven's defenses. To this end, he dispatched several withergeists to spy out Sanguine's location and watch his actions.

"I am concerned." The Dreamsmith said, examining the structure of the necklace closely. "But I can do very little to help from here." He hesitated, noticing a tiny imperfection in a link's crystalline lattice. "I would, however, send a message to the world of the living. I shall entrust it either to you, or if you cannot, then to Rebus."

"You have done well." The Witherlord held out the Plotblade of the Dragon. "You have proven yourself worthy to be chief among my servants." The fragment of Antagonist flew forward, incorporating into Fog's misty being. Fog felt a vast sea of power, a darkness just out of reach. "I give you leave to draw upon the strength of my mantle, in service to me." The Witherlord said. "You shall have some of my strength, though know that I can withdraw this privilege at will. You are my right hand, and will remain my right hand so long as you remain worthy." "Yes," Unintelligible said. "The Witherlord is a much more pressing issue than Rebus." "I understand." The Dreamsmith turned back to the necklace on his anvil. "We shall wait for Rebus." "As I thought." The Witherlord murmured. He gestured to Fog. "Fog is my new right hand. You will obey her as you would me." He smiled. "Unless you think you would be a better fit for the job. Know that I will not forbid competition among those who serve me, so long as it does not harm our goals overly much." The Witherlord noticed Sanguine's actions, and was displeased.

"You are safe here from any threat of the living. But..." The Dreamsmith reached into his pocket and pulled out a spider-like robot. He worked deftly, opening a panel on its surface and manipulating the mechanism within. "You shall be safe enough here, to wait for Rebus." He finished, setting the robot down. "But you still didn't answer my question. How did you come here?"

The Witherlord smiled, spreading his hands. "This is good." Ten thousand more blades of darkness appeared behind him. "It is good that you fear me. This entire Thread should fear me, for I am its end. Run if you wish. Death will find you in the end. I will find you in the end."

The blades struck the area the group had been a moment earlier, eviscerating the ground upon which the crew had stood. The Witherlord grunted, mildly disappointed. "Heaven's gates shall not protect you forever, angel." The Witherlord smiled, making note of the established location. It would be an excellent place to invade, thematically appropriate and sure to draw the heroes of the Thread to its defense. The Witherlord turned. Most of his opponents had now fled, as he'd expected. He faced Atlas and Rebus. "Do you still think to face me?" The Dreamsmith looked up in surprise. On his anvil lay a glowing necklace, with a crystalline appearance. "Who are you, and what are you doing in my workshop?" He frowned, peering closely at Ribbon. "It is not safe for the living to be long in this place, especially without Omen to give you a link back to the world of the living." He hesitated, then continued more gently. "How did you come here, young one?" Well, since she's definitely totally absolutely 100% for certain dead, Ribbon would need no trial to reach the Dreamsmith. He might insist on one if she wanted him to make a weapon for her, but if she just wants to wait and meet Rebus, a trial wouldn't be necessary.

Lyric blinked. "I was speaking of deities, but I suppose your origins are not quite the same as us beings of flesh. Who created you?" Excellent. The pain spiked as the Mordite within the clone vibrated, grew, integrated. The clone's skin greyed and writhed, shifting lumps moving beneath it. I remember a being from a branch from this Thread long dead... a weapon used to kill Narrators. Countless Mordite spikes burst from the clone's skin, growing, cutting, corrupting. I hope you survive this transformation, clone of Rebus. For I shall have need of such a weapon in days to come. The blades came at the crew from all sides. a dome of countless dark blades, descending on them from above. There was nowhere to dodge or run. The Witherlord tore a hole in reality and stepped through, leaving a slowly expanding tear within the barrier. A tear opening to the Void opened before Seraphina, and the Witherlord stepped through. "You think to contain me?" He sounded amused. "I, who destroyed the Luxsprites? I, who despise the bindings of the strongest Ennullers? What are you to them?" He laughed, then reached for Seraphina with a hand coated in darkness.

Intriguing. I will accept your offer once my current business is through.

Ah, in that case... The blades of darkness swerved, moving towards the area from which the crew and Ryna watched the battle. @Shatter Many Plotblades could threaten me. Conflict, Protagonist, Endings to name just a few. Which blade do you offer unto me?

"Oh, yes, of course." Lyric said. "And then you said your creator told you that Plot was important. I merely allowed my mind to wander. Your creator, you say? Most people do not speak to their creators." "So be it. Your fate shall be the same as all who oppose me." The Witherlord said calmly. "You shall know failure, and you shall know pain." He made a fist, and the blades of darkness flew as one. Not towards Atlas, not towards the copy of Rebus running to save her, but towards the ship holding Rebyl and the crew. The pain from the Mordite seemed to lessen, its corruption of Rebus's soul slowing. Do you want to live, Rebus? Literally where the Dreamsmith is, or just in the afterlife? I am no pawn, to come at come at command. Neither am I a Narrator, willingly splitting his soul a thousand ways. Tell me what it is you wish of me, and I shall attend you if I decide it is worth my time. Well done. The Witherlord's voice echoed through Fog's being. Return to me, and receive your reward.

"All life must end." The Witherlord floated in the void, eyes closed. "But this task will take time. Many will oppose us." He opened his eyes, looked at Charnyx. "Tell me, how quickly do you think Ennullers will react to my return?"

Hm. Back to the drawing board.

No, Yes? The character?

The Witherlord observed Fog and Ribbon's battle through withergeist Fog's essence, A smile spreading across his face. "Let pain, heartbreak, and death abound." He sent forth another summons through the void. Charnyx, my loyal servant. Come to me. @xinoehp512 -- "Your creator? You've talked with..." Lyric heard the tone of darkness. He felt its dire rhythm. By instincts long buried, he hummed a few notes to a long-lost tune. The Thread stirred. A tiny point of light crystallized in the air before Lyric. He stared at it, and old memories struggled to surface. Lyric ceased his humming, and the light vanished. He glanced at Jack. Hopefully his friend hadn't noticed anything. "What was I saying?" He asked nervously. "I'm sorry, I was lost in my thoughts." @Through The Living Glass Yes?

“I will consider it done when it is done.” The Witherlord waved a hand in dismissal. “That is all. Return to me when your task is complete, and I shall give you your reward.”

“It should be a simple task.” The Witherlord said coolly. ”Prove yourself free of connections to this Thread. Kill Ribbon, and you shall be my right hand.”