Episode 36: I Am... The Revolution!

Napoleon Bonaparte: I am the Revolution.

"Judgement."

For the first moments, there was silence, a deafening stillness that seemed to stretch into eternity. Then, suddenly, the very fabric of reality seemed to shudder. An ominous tremor surged through the air, and a pulse of unimaginable power radiated from Griswa, suspended high above the mountains. The tension in the atmosphere was palpable.

And then! WITH A CALAMITOUS ROAR!!!! The mountain range and every peak in the vicinity beyond the mountain range—around 715,971 peaks of varying sizes and heights—shattered in half second!!! The sheer force of the explosion was apocalyptic, the sound echoing like the end of days! Some peaks disintegrated into mere dust, while others broke into jagged chunks as the debris of a world torn, as if it was a joke. The shattering created an erupting storm on the battlefield too.

In a scene that defied the very laws of nature, every fragment, every shard, rose into the sky, as if gravity was commanded. Billions of chunks, from minute particles to colossal boulders, ascended into the heavens, filling the endless horizon. The sky was a chaotic canvas of floating debris, a storm of stone and earth.

Two enormous chunks, each the size of a mountain in their own right, hovered ominously to Griswa's left and right. These colossal masses framed him perfectly, amplifying his already imposing presence. He stood amidst the chaos, a figure of absolute dominance. The very sight of him, surrounded by this tempest of destruction, created an image of power that no one could hope to overcome.

The clouds above, already heavy with the aftermath of the previous battle, responded to this display of might. They roared in fury, releasing another thunderclap of 70 billion colors of lightning that arced across the battlefield. Kaboom!!!!! The sky was a dazzling spectacle of light and energy. Each lightning strike illuminated the floating chunks of rock, highlighting them in vivid and vibrant hues.

Griswa, at the center of this maelstrom, was both gentlemanly and dangerous, a perfect blend of elegance and menace. His eyes glowed with an inner light, reflecting the storm of power that raged around him. 

The large chunks of rock floating beside him seemed to pulse with energy, as if acknowledging his dominance. The lightning strikes cast long shadows, emphasizing his figure. 

The clouds continued their thunderclaps, the lightning danced across the sky, illuminating the battlefield in a spectacular display of color and light. The scene was surreal, a dreamlike vision of chaos and beauty intertwined.

The highest arising question in anyone's mind would be a simple yet profound one: Why? Why would Griswa do all this? The battlefield lay in ruins, the chaos and destruction wrought by his unfathomable power. Among the devastation, Fheniz, Yesdar, and Malaes found themselves caught in the middle of this calamitous event.

Fheniz, exhausted and pained, struggled to comprehend what was happening. Despite his back pain and weariness, he knew he had to rise and understand the situation. His body screamed in protest as he forced himself up, his muscles trembling with the effort. His eyes darted around, trying to make sense of the overwhelming scene before him. "What is all this? After everything we've witnessed, the war is over, so why is this happening?" Yesdar's voice trembled as he spoke, his hands covering his face. Blood trickled from his nose and eyes, a grim indication of the energy pressure that assaulted his senses.

Malaes echoed his sentiments, "My ears... they're bleeding," she muttered, her voice weak and filled with confusion. Yesdar glanced at his own hands, now stained with blood from his eyes and nose. The sight of his own blood made his heart race even faster. Fheniz, still struggling to find his balance, felt his own senses jumble and distort. The energy pressure was too high, and their bodies, unprepared for such an assault, were breaking down.

Fheniz managed to sit up, but the effort proved too much. He vomited blood in a violent splash, the crimson liquid staining the sand. His coughing fit was so intense that tears welled up in his eyes, blurring his vision. "Yesdar, Malaes, what... what do we do?" he gasped between coughs, his voice barely audible. Yesdar and Malaes, overwhelmed by the pain and pressure, could only manage weak groans in response.

Thunderclaps roared in the background, the sound resonating through their very bones. The pressure was too much for Yesdar and Malaes; they fell to their knees, their hands digging into the sand as their faces became bloodied masks of agony. Their senses dulled, and the world around them became a blur of pain and chaos. Fheniz, determined to regain control, fought against his own body. His nerves swelled and became visible on his face, his skin turning a deep shade of red. "Argh... ahhh!" he groaned, every muscle in his body straining as he tried to focus.

His eyes, bloodshot and filled with a mix of desperation and determination, stared into the distance. His pupils, a haunting blend of black and red, gave him the appearance of a horrifying ghost. "This... is... Griswa!" he managed to choke out between labored breaths. "What... happened? HE... HAS... GONE... BERSERK... I... can't... fight... anymore!"

With those words, Fheniz's strength finally gave out. He collapsed face-first into the sand, his energy completely spent from the effort of regaining his senses. His body lay still, the high-style warrior now reduced to a figure of exhaustion and defeat. Yesdar and Malaes were already unconscious, their bodies unable to cope with the loss of blood and the never-ending pressure.

Yesdar's final moments of consciousness were filled with confusion and fear. "Malaes... Fheniz... I... can't..." His voice trailed off as his vision darkened. The world around him became a distant memory as he succumbed to the overwhelming pressure. Malaes, too, felt her strength waning. Her hands, stained with her own blood, trembled as she tried to reach out to her companions. "Yesdar... Fheniz... we... have to... stay... together..." But her words were lost to the void as her body gave in witnessing half-death.

Fheniz's thoughts, muddled and chaotic, focused on Griswa. What could have driven him to such extremes? What force could compel someone to unleash such devastation? Did Orngea do all this? What did he do to make Griswa use so much power that he had gone berserk? The answers evaded him, hidden behind a veil of pain and confusion. He fought to stay conscious, to keep his mind from slipping into the abyss, but it was a losing battle. His vision blurred, and darkness crept in from the edges.

Yesdar, in his final moments of awareness, felt a deep sense of helplessness, and his mind followed, sinking into a dark, dreamless void.

Malaes, felt a deep sense of failure again before her body gave in. 

Ferion as a Godly creature, didn't pass out, but he too felt the wrath dawning, as his breaths were a proof of his fear. All he could do is fly away. Yet even though he wasn't commanded or anything, as a smart creature, he pulled all of them using his mouth and tossed them on his back one by one, and flew away with a roar before the storm could reach them. 

And like Fheniz said, Griswa had actually gone berserk. Orngea's cube-seal, a binding force so powerful it could trap even gods, was the cause of his madness. Griswa found himself trapped within its confines, his immense power rendered useless against this prison. In his desperation to break free, he pushed his abilities beyond the restricted limit. And this act of defiance came at a great cost. Griswa's attempt to shatter the seal with raw power backfired spectacularly. The force he unleashed was far beyond what he could control, far beyond what any mortal or immortal could fathom. The surge of energy overwhelmed his conscious mind, causing his subconscious to take over.

Griswa's subconscious, a dark and destructive entity, acted with a singular purpose: to bring the doom of all existence. Unlike his conscious self, which was bound by morality and restraint, his subconscious was like a force of nature, unrelenting and devastating. It acted independently, a separate entity fueled by raw, unchecked power. This subconscious state was a problem of unimaginable proportions. As Griswa lost control, his conscious self was trapped within, watching helplessly as his body became an instrument of destruction.

Meanwhile, Ferion, with a strength that belied his appearance, carried the unconscious Yesdar and Malaes, along with the passed-out Fheniz. He moved swiftly, knowing the urgency of the situation. Griswa's rampage was just beginning, and staying on the battlefield was no longer an option. Ferion's goal was clear: get to a safe location or, better yet, back home, away from the apocalyptic devastation that Griswa was unleashing.

Griswa's use of excessive power to break the seal had consequences beyond what he could have imagined. His conscious mind, was now a prisoner within his own body. He was fighting a battle against himself, trying to reclaim control. This internal struggle was the only thing preventing immediate doom for the planet of Ehayor. If Griswa's subconscious had full reign, the planet would have already been reduced to rubble.

In the depths of his mind, Griswa's conscious self struggled to pull his subconscious back. The effort was monumental, like trying to stop a super tsunami with bare hands. His memories, though fragmented and unclear, provided some resistance against the overwhelming power of his subconscious. He knew there was a reason for his existence, a purpose that had been lost in the chaos of his thoughts. But those memories were like pieces of a shattered mirror, reflecting distorted images that made little sense. 

Griswa's subconscious was perhaps the most dangerous force in the omniverse. Its destructive potential was unparalleled, a living incarnation of chaos. Yet, there was a mystery surrounding Griswa's existence. Why him? Why was he the vessel for such a force? The answers were elusive, hidden in the labyrinth of his lost memories. Griswa knew, on some level, that there was a reason for his power, a purpose that had been stripped from his conscious mind.

Even in history and knowledge he had, no Skaar God was ever said to have such a dangerous nature. Was he born with this power, or was he created as an experiment? The question gnawed at him, adding another layer of torment to his internal struggle. His memories, jumbled and disjointed, offered no clear answers. There were glimpses of a past, flashes of a life in the chaos, but nothing concrete. He remembered some faces and voices but they were all just blurred images.

Every question has an answer, but that answer creates another question.

Griswa fought to reclaim control but the world around him trembled. The ground shook, the air crackled with energy, and the very fabric of reality seemed to warp under the strain of his power as the battle raged within. The external devastation continued. Mountains crumbled, skies darkened even with 70 billion lightnings.

Deep within the turbulent maelstrom of his mind, Griswa struggled against the oppressive chains of his subconscious. The weight of his own power bore down on him, each attempt to break free met with a forceful, unyielding resistance. Every thrash, every burst of energy, was absorbed and repelled by the dark force that had overtaken him. Realizing brute strength alone was futile, Griswa paused. He needed to summon his subconscious back to the prison where his conscious self was trapped. If he couldn't overpower it, he would have to negotiate.

He focused, drawing upon the fragments of his remaining sanity to calm the storm within. His breathing steadied, his mind sharpened, and he reached out with his consciousness, summoning the darker part of himself. The air around him seemed to thicken, vibrating with a palpable tension. From the shadows, he heard the slow, deliberate echo of footsteps. Each step resonated with an ominous cadence, amplifying the dread that gnawed at the edges of his mind.

As the figure emerged from the darkness, Griswa's eyes widened. Before him stood another version of himself, identical in form but radiating a sinister aura. This darker self was shrouded in an inky blackness, eyes glowing with iridescent lens flares. It was Griswa, yet it wasn't. It was his subconscious, the incarnation of his unrestrained power and darkest impulses.

The dark figure spoke, its voice a haunting mirror of Griswa's own, laced with malice. "What are you doing? You do not have the power to resist me. Your power is my power, and my power is my power. All your trials to defy these chains will be abortive. I originally have the right over this body. You are the one who was supposed to be in this cage... forever, but... only because of that bastard Hezick..."

Before the dark figure could continue, Griswa's conscious self interrupted, desperation tinging his voice. "What about Hezick?! What had happened?! Why don't I remember?! What was he asking me to escape from?! You know it! Tell me now!! You are the one who deleted all my memories, the memories which were already the answers to the questions I didn't need to ask myself!"

The subconscious smirked, a twisted mockery of Griswa's own smile. "I am supposed to exactly 'not do' what you are asking for. That's part of my job, consider it that way, no grudges."

The subconscious continued, its voice dripping with dark intent. "You see, Griswa, your memories, your purpose, all of it is irrelevant. What matters is the power, the raw, unbridled power that I wield. You are a vessel, nothing more. Your attempts to reclaim control are futile because you are fighting against a fundamental truth: I am the true essence of our being."

Griswa's mind whirled, fragments of memories flashing before his eyes. He saw glimpses of Hezick, in mystery and urgency, warning him and guiding him. But the details were elusive, slipping through his mental grasp like sand. Hezick had tried to protect him, to save him from this very fate. But why? What was the true nature of the threat that had led to this internal war?

The dark figure stepped closer, its presence overwhelming. "You think you can negotiate with me? Bargain for control? You are deluded. I am not a separate entity, I just act like one, basically I am an entity you cannot reason with. I am you, and you are me. We are one, and in that unity, I hold dominion."

Griswa clenched his fists, his nails digging into his palms. "No," he whispered fiercely. "We are not one. I am more than just a vessel for your destruction. I have a purpose, a reason for being, and I will find it, with or without your cooperation."

The subconscious laughed, a sound devoid of humor. "Purpose? Reason? These are constructs of your feeble conscious mind, clinging to a semblance of order in a chaotic omniverse. You seek meaning where there is none. Embrace the chaos, Griswa. Accept the power that lies within and let go of these illusions."

Griswa's resolve hardened. "I will never accept a fate dictated by nonsense killing. There is more to our existence than this. I will fight you, even if it means tearing myself apart in the process."

The dark figure's eyes narrowed, a flicker of annoyance crossing its features. "Very well. Continue your futile, stupid struggle. But know this: every moment you resist, you only delay the inevitable. I am the new dawn, Griswa. I am the power that will revamp this world, and by world I don't mean this world or Aeartha, I mean all existence, the omniverse... whether you accept it or not."

Griswa took a deep breath, his stubbornness unfluctuating. "Then I will delay the inevitable for as long as it takes. I will find a way to reclaim my memories, to understand the truth of our existence. And when I do, I will banish you back to the darkness from whence you came."

The subconscious's smile returned, colder and more sinister than before.

Subarashi, Griswa. None of us will bend. But remember, no matter how hard you fight, in the end...

I Am The Judgement,

I Am The Apocalypse,

And...

I AM...THE REVOLUTION!