Chapter 4487: Kleos III

Glory. Kleos.

How much glory can one truly gain from battle?

How much Kleos...that ancient, resonant renown that echoes beyond the cessation of the flesh, can be harvested from the act of unmaking another?

For some, the answer is infinite.

To them, battle is the crucible of definition. It is the only place where the self is truly tested, where the dross of mundane existence is burned away to reveal the gold of the soul. They believe that to strike down a titan is to steal a fraction of their height, to stand taller upon the mountain of the vanquished.

For these beings, glory is a resource as tangible as Mana...a currency that buys immortality in the minds of those who follow.

A scar is a story. A kill is a verse in the grand ballad of their existence.

But there is another perspective. A quieter, colder one.

To these observers, battle is merely the failure of reason. It is a chaotic, messy transaction where value is lost, not gained. They look at the corpse of a titan and see only rot, not triumph.

They argue that Kleos is a lie told by the living to justify the silence of the dead.

For what glory does the dust know? What renown can comfort the void?

In this view, war is not a ladder to the heavens, but a slide into entropy...an acceleration of the inevitable end where names, deeds, and memories are all devoured by the same impartial dark.

In the Earliest Folds, this question was not philosophical.

It was practical.

And the answer... would determine the fate of Existence.

---

In the Earliest Folds.

The domain was a singularity of silence, a pocket of reality that sat at the very precipice of the unformed.

Here, the weavings of existence curled up and died, replaced by the sheer, crushing weight of Presence.

THE Creature sat upon a simple stone outcropping.

He was vast in conceptual density. To look at him was to look at the horizon...no matter how far you traveled, he seemed to be there, encompassing the view.

Before him stood THE Living Emotive.

She was a kaleidoscope of feeling given form, a shifting storm of colors...violets of despair, crimsons of rage, golds of euphoria...swirling around a humanoid silhouette that seemed too vibrant to be real.

The atmosphere was tense, heavy with the scent of imminent betrayal, though the betrayal had already been woven into the fabric of the moment.

THE Loom was nearing completion. The trap was sprung, the cage was lowering, and the game was reaching its terrifying crescendo.

Emotive looked at THE Creature, her form flickering with nervous, manic yellow energy.

"So," she began, her voice a chorus of a thousand whispers, "in the wars to come... in the grand reshaping of all things... how much glory will there be? How much Kleos awaits us, O Creature, when the dust settles and the new order rises?"

THE Creature raised his head.

His eyes...pools of absolute, primordial existence, met hers.

There was no anger in them. No fear.

Only a profound, endless depth.

"In all battles," THE Creature said, his voice the sound of a tectonic plate shifting deep underground, "there is no glory. There is only death."

The statement was flat. Absolute.

It stripped the romance from violence and left only the cold, hard bone of reality.

Emotive stared at him for a long moment.

Then, she laughed.

It was a jagged, fractured sound, like crystal shattering in a vacuum.

"Hahaha! You really are a killjoy, aren’t you?" She floated closer, the colors of her form shifting to a dark, trembling blue. "But that’s why I was always terrified of you. Did you know that?"

She gestured to herself, to the swirling storm of her existence.

"Fear. Terror. It was the most delicious, most potent emotion I ever found. And you... you were the source. I used that terror to climb, to evolve, to reach this height. And even now..."

She leaned in, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper that vibrated with genuine dread.

"Even now, as the trap closes, as THE Living Paradox’s grand design comes to fruition, and we stand on the brink of victory... I am still unfathomably terrified of you."

THE Creature looked at her.

He did not blink.

And then, he moved.

He raised his right hand.

It was a simple gesture...a slow, deliberate lifting of the arm.

CLANK. CLANK. CLANK.

The sound of chains...heavy, conceptual chains forged from the crystallized authority of multiple Civilizations, rang out through the void.

The grand reveal was heartbreaking in its majesty.

THE Creature was bound.

Countless chains, each one thick as Folds, wrapped around his limbs, his torso, his very neck. They anchored him to the nothingness, weighing down his existence with a suppression force that should have rendered him utterly immobile.

A force of multiple Primordial Civilizations combined.

He should not have been able to lift a finger. He should not have been able to twitch a muscle. The combined might of the conspirators, the full weight of the betrayal, was pressing down on him with incomprehensible force.

And yet.

He raised his hand.

He pointed it toward THE Living Emotive.

WAA!

There was no attack. No blast of energy.

Just the movement. Just the fact that he could.

In an instant...less than a nanosecond, THE Living Emotive vanished.

She didn’t teleport with grace. She fled. She kicked off the fabric of reality and hurled herself backward, putting countless Gigaparsecs between herself and that raised hand in a single, desperate heartbeat!

The void where she had stood was empty, swirling with the residual trails of her panic.

THE Creature sat there, his hand still raised, the chains pulled taut, groaning under the strain of his casual movement.

He smiled.

It was a small, gentle smile.

He lowered his hand, the chains clattering back into place, settling around him like heavy, obedient serpents. He sat back down, comfortable in his bindings, as if they were merely loose clothing.

"You seem," THE Creature murmured to the empty space, "to still be filled with fear."

Minutes passed. Or perhaps seconds.

Time was subjective in the face of such terror.

Slowly, cautiously, a shimmer of color reappeared in the distance. THE Living Emotive returned, though she kept a safe, respectful range...a distance measured in light-years.

She looked at him, her form trembling, the colors chaotic and muddy.

Then, she let out a breath she didn’t need, and she laughed again.

This time, the laughter was shaky, bordering on hysterical.

"Damn," she whispered, her voice carrying across the distance through their conceptual link. "You scary fucking guy."

She shook her head, the colors of her form brightening, turning to a mix of awe and disbelief.

"You still terrify me, okay? Even after all this. Even bound. Even betrayed."

She floated there, looking at the chains that had failed to stop him.

"I truly cannot believe Paradox pulled this off," she admitted, her voice filled with genuine wonder. "I was half expecting you to kill us all for the betrayal the moment we tried it. I did it regardless because, man, why not? The thrill was worth the risk. But for us to actually succeed? For THE Loom to be actualized? For you to be... contained?"

Her eyes shone with a manic light.

"Wowee... the avenues of possibilities are now boundless."

She straightened, regaining some of her composure, though she did not move an inch closer.

"I’ll leave you be now, O Glorious Creature," she said, sketching a mock bow that was actually quite respectful. "But I’ll come and keep you company for as long as I can. Just to continue feeling that terror. That emotion of fear. Because towards you...I also feel that emotion of boundless love. It is intoxicating. It is paradoxical..."

She shivered, a ripple of dark pleasure running through her form.

"I think... in all of observable existence, you are the only one who can make me feel like that. Not even Paradox could make me feel such fear. Such love. Not even the approaching End itself."

...!

THE Creature sat silently.

The chains hummed with a low, mournful note.

He looked at her, at this vibrant, terrified, ambitious child of existence.

"In all that you are doing now," THE Creature said, his voice soft, final, and heavy as a collapsing Fold, "you will not find glory in it. You will not find Kleos regardless of how far you go."

His eyes closed, the stars dimming.

"You will not find what you are looking for."

...!

The words hung in the void, a prophecy that felt more like a curse.

Emotive paused. The colors of her form stilled for a moment.

Then, she shrugged, a gesture of dismissal that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

"Eh," she said, her voice fading as she began to dissolve into the background of existence. "Glory is overrated anyways!"

POP.

She was gone.

And THE Creature sat alone in the dark, bound by chains that could not truly hold him, waiting for the end that was only a beginning.

In that silence, he whispered calmly.

"Anaximander, Come."

...!

A name was called as moments passed.

It was unknown if there would ever be an answer!

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