The Young And The Primordial

"Are you-"

Before Yroa could finish his sentence, this galactical entity shushed him. There was no way of comprehending how it moved, how it conveyed such action. But Yroa felt it, acknowledged it, that if he were today anything more than needed, this godly entity would 'act'.

Likewise, at first glance when it appeared, this entity appeared to be incomprehensible in its silhouette and overall form, only for the glowy contour to start shaping it to appear like some kind of divine humanoid entity, masculine in figure with perfect muscle imagery.

And as Yroa was assured earlier, it did in fact, gestured his index finger to shush him, placing it right in front of his face of gapingly maddening spiral of void.

Then, a distorted bellowing permeated the starlight realm in the form of language that Yroa was eerily familiar with, just like how the residents of Hell could speak in one manner but comprehensible for the sinners of different age and tribes. 

It was also the same kind of phenomenon that allowed Yroa to do the same with his fellow sinners of vastly different origins.

"I know Infinity~" the entity playfully hummed, swelling his voice and subsiding it rhythmically like the ebb and flow of ocean tides. Its tone was neither musical nor mechanical, rather something altogether more ominous, hinting at a foreboding force lurking just beyond the threshold of perception. "She crawled with her vice as they gouge each other's eyes~"

"I know Duplicity~" Enormous, yet ethereal and weightless, the godly entity hunched forward, showcasing his face of spiraling madness to Yroa like it was the true sky in this starlight expanse while maintaining his creepy melody. "Who was once a child, born in tapestry~

"And I also know you."

The entity's words weighed far more than the tallest of mountains, as Yroa was drowned by his own cold-biting sweats. 

It was horrifying, to think that someone could feel more naked than exposing all of his skin by just hearing a couple of sentences. Even the serpentine dread hanging by Yroa's strangled breath was something that he hadn't even experienced in his time in Hell as a sinner.

"To think that it was 'you' out of anyone that the Godspeaker of the Chaos God notified of their arrival, speaks gravity of what you will destroy and accomplish." The godly figure spoke as if he was seeing the future and the past simultaneously, branching and branching like the roots of an ever-growing tree. "This doesn't make you any special, however. In fact, you're much less significant than the creation of the ornamental quasar that I placed on my rear.

"To be a mortal is to kneel but defy fate, and I hope that you choose to act rightfully after I'm done tempering your 'organ'."

Yroa was smothered by a debilitating amount of questions once again. Wasn't this entity supposed to be the Chaos God? What did this entity mean by tempering his 'organ'? Is this related to the blessing that he acquired back then since the Apostle mentioned something like 'transcendent organ'??

Likewise, for a mere mortal, Yroa could only freeze and maddeningly watched as the godly entity anchored the edge his gargantuanly cosmic 'chisel' onto his forehead, before striking the back with a 'hammer', unleashing a reality-bending tremor on Yroa's physical existence and the entirety of his soul.

Each strike immensely burdened Yroa's mind and comprehension of pain into an ineffable level. At the same time, the realm he was in appeared to possess a special property that didn't allow him to be blacked out or mindbroken that he passed out from the stress.

Meaning that all of the experience that he was exposed to was raw and true, and he was there to take it all.

The stimulation was so incomprehensibly complex and enormous, that not even his 1,090 cumulative years in Hell could even be compared to the 1% percent of his current circumstances.

"I see, looks like the Weaver is at your side," the entity eerily chuckled, stopping the 'tempering' process. "It didn't even take more than ten strikes for the 'organ' to break its chrysalis phase. The Chaos God is truly an expert at gambling like always."

"Can I speak now?" Yroa uttered with a clear tone of annoyance. Clutching his throat, he felt an otherworldly pain that was attached to his larynx and tongue, never dispersing and insatiable. "I don't know your deal, but you should work on your speech clarity if this is a work that the Chaos God gave to you!" He then proceeded to cough terribly after that. 

The aftertaste of the 'tempering' still lingered like it had never left, but Yroa was able to regain a huge part of his humanity and consciousness. 

Though, if one were to describe what he felt as of now, aside from the otherworldly stinging on his voice box and tongue, it would be akin to having a small star in the skull between the eyes, alongside a fervent grip on every molecule of his flesh and his skin. 

The only reason why he was able to overcome it was the thousand years of experience that he had in Hell, together with the unique property of this starlight realm, allowing him to act like normal despite the overflowing sensation that he was exposed to.

"To ask for permission to speak, and then spouting nonsense right after without any confirmation on whether you're allowed or not—just how low can you become as a lowlife?" the godly entity spoke.

"Heh, I take that as a yes then," Yroa sourly grinned. "You didn't punish me even after I kept on yapping, surely you're fine with this lowlife just being a lowlife and keep on spouting nonsense like a lowlife should, no?"

"... Looks like you're conscious enough of your own worth." The galaxy-sized entity caressed his own chin. "And to greatly adapt to the implementation of 'Qliphoth Organ' this fast, one would think that you're actually a newborn 'Godmorph'."

"What's a Godmorph?"

"Hmm, forget that I said that." As the fabric of space moved alongside the will of this godly entity's gesture, he pointed his cosmic index finger on Yroa. "But to make up with your lingering curiosity, I allow you to question anything other than that specific question, mortal."

Given the opportunity to venture his knowledge beyond scientific methods and reality even further, Yroa tried his best to contain the excitement.

All poets and philosophers in the past and his lifetime would be so jealous of him. Granted, he was the first one to truly conversate with this almighty being.

"Your name," Yroa rolled his speech like a dice as he tossed it from his 'new' tongue. "In between the mortal and the divine, don't you think that it's more proper for the higher entity to bestow their identity and knowledge of themselves instead of keeping it away mysteriously under the guise of divinity?"

It landed on nat-20.

"Is that a complaint towards how Gods in their respective Pantheons acted towards their influenced mortals?" The godly entity appeared to be chuckling after that sentence. It was unknown how, but it felt like it. "My name isn't inheritable in the form of knowledge and wisdom down to the conceptual level, but you can refer to me as the Worldsmith, since that is one of my occupations in the grand scheme of things."

"You appear to be rather sympathizing with my view on the relationship between mortals and gods, Sir Worldsmith."

"I don't sympathize," the Worldsmith appeared to be chuckling again. "I comprehend."

"A magnificent mindset to have."

"Your level of existence isn't high enough to effectively flatter me."

"What is your relationship with the God of Chaos, then?"

"We're merely fellow bidders for the Weaver of Ornamental, gamblers who enact a scheme incomprehensible to you mortals."

"What is the Weaver of Ornamental?"

"She is the one who ensures whose bidders win their bets, and probably sabotage some. Heh."

"Sounds like someone you have to please everyday."

"Contrary to your first impression, she is impossible to satiate. Which reminds me, you look just like her in a way, both physically and spiritually, an eerie resemblance considering that you're a mortal and she is above all things ordered and reordered."

Yroa cheekily snickered. "Can I become a Weaver of Ornamental then?"

"If you try hard enough." The Worldsmith appeared to be smiling, somewhat engaged with his conversation with this little mortal in front of him. "To be a mortal is to kneel and defy fate, nothing is impossible as long as they truthfully emanate their 'ohr' into the tapestry of creation."

Now that the Worldsmith mentioned the subject of 'ohr', it was the perfect moment for Yroa to finally finalize his theory of this intriguing energy that has been mentioned a lot by the Apostle of the Chaos God, but never clarified on what it truly was at its core.

His lust for knowledge almost let his drool spill from the edge of his lips.

"What is this 'ohr' exactly?" Yroa put on a confused look, but filled with curiosity. "Throughout my waiting time, I noticed some inconsistency. The Apostle of the Chaos God refers to it as some sort of 'energy' that seems to be everywhere, but also nowhere at the same time. Clearly different from the fictitious concept of 'mana' that my kind familiarize in our modern fantasy literature."

"... You speak like you read a lot, at the same time, not, mortal. Then again, I'll assume this lexical ambiguity is the result of my minimal treading on the conversed subject."

"So the words 'mana' and 'fantasy literature' aren't familiar to you, huh~?" Yroa widened his playful smile, but not in any demeaning way. "Does Sir Worldsmith haven't tried reading fiction in his free time?"

"Why would I?" The godly Worldsmith was both appalled and curious of the implication. "My sight has always been on the tapestry of fate. Why do I need to peek at fictitious fantasy when reality is most often as weird and unpredictable than the unreal imagination of a sentient consciousness?"

"Hmmm, I think I can understand your point of view now." Close-eyed, Yroa slightly tilted his head to the side as he shrugged. "I too would throw fictitious fantasy out of my bucket list when there's an infinite amount of possibilities to look for. Tch, now you're just making me jealous of you, Sir Worldsmith."

"Quickly become the Weaver of Ornamental, then," the Worldsmith laughed. "As for your question about the true nature of 'ohr', note this: Just like an asymmetrical statue that looks different from differing angles, many things can be true, and many things can be false. It's impossible to deduce its ultimate nature."

"What is your view then?"

"It's the 'light' that emanates from the infinite well."

"And I assume that you're using a lot of it to maintain your existence as a Worldsmith." Yroa cast his usual smile of attentive interest. "Whether or not it's truly infinite, you're probably not afraid of losing any of it, since you have your own sizable portion of this 'light', a large bucket of 'ohr' that you can tap freely without interfering with others

"It might be a possibility, that you deem 'ohr' as an important but mundane thing, like drinking water to replenish bodily moisture that humans lose everyday.

"But it's definitely something that is out of reach regardless of the situation. Your lack of fixation on the mortals and their ways of communicating shows that, meaning that it's not something given to you like 'faith' either.

"And by those criteria alone, we can deduce that this 'ohr' has a threshold that is different for every existence and their hierarchy in it. A relative threshold, possibly capable of being heightened and extended further, since you say that it's not impossible for me to become akin to that of Weaver of Ornamental.

"Combined with everything that I gathered from hearing the Chaos God's Apostle, 'ohr' is a conceptually indefinite value of existential energy that is only limited by its user's size of reservoir. It's basically the energy of life! The greater the existence of its user, the more 'ohr' they can draw from the limitless well! All of us are merely a bucket to hold it!" 

Yroa showcased his genuine face of jubilation. A genuine smile of childish wonder, the excitement of a kid that discovered something in front of an elderly. 

"..." The Worldsmith went silent for a few seconds. "For someone who hasn't climbed the 'Floors' of emanation, you sure assume a lot of things on the right marks."

The Worldsmith appear to be capable to fully interpret Yroa's view on 'ohr', but it was certainly something that was not far from his own view on it as well.

"Heh, it only takes one or two things to piece everything together," Yroa said with a smug—a very big smug. "One thing for sure! When it comes to mortals of my degree, we often overspeak things, giving away hints on our mindset and view when we're talking to someone who doesn't see and feel the same thing we experience. It's just in our psychology.

"Who would expect that this extends to an almighty Worldsmith such as you? Maybe the lowlives and the divine can truly communicate to a great extent! Of course, with much more effort and knowledge on the mortal side, since it's like comparing an ant to an entire sun."

Yroa made an exaggerated gesture of a small thing with a pinch of his index and thumb, before opening his hands wide as if he was waiting for a hug to imply the extremely big thing—as if his words weren't clear enough already.

"Hmm, I didn't expect to learn an intriguing aspect from a mere mortal like you. Those are fine words filled with humbleness and comprehension, I admit. You'll make it far to the 'Emanations' for sure, as long as you survive long enough to reach it." At this moment, the Worldsmith appeared as if his focus wasn't fully directed to Yroa, possibly looking at the new branches of possible futures that were created due to this prolonged conversation. "Any more questions you want to ask?"

"I'm afraid not, since I don't want to indulge myself in knowledge far beyond my position without any proper practice," Yroa said with a genuine heart. "This world called Yassimhre, it will be something that's very far different from my original world, won't it? Something that might be filled with many brand new things. New things to learn, new food to consume, and new people to interact with."

"Are you excited to go 'there'?"

Yroa put on a close-eyed smile. "I'm excited to finally move on from a place where I'm not constantly getting a hot-piping metal skewering me from the ass like a shish kebab everyday."

"Your time in that place is utterly barbaric."

"You tell me."

The Worldsmith appeared to be slightly nodding on contentment. "Well then, I suppose any further interaction would count as me indulging myself talking to a mortal. I'll start the transference of your 'existence' to the world Yassimhre, per my agreed deal with the Chaos God of Yassimhre."

The same splitting and spiraling sensation permeated to Yroa's every inch of existence once again.

"You're having fun talking to me, aren't you?" Yroa said with a smug and one raised eyebrow, adorably mocking and annoying enough for someone to want to try punching him on his beautifully cute face. "Aww, that's so sweet~ Am I your first though? Tell me that I'm your first!"

"The branches of your future are vast, and with the influence of the Chaos God—try your best to survive, little one."

"Don't change the subject! You 'like' me, yes or no?

"May the Weaver of Ornamental guide your decisions."

"Sir Worldsmith, you're trying really hard to ignore my-!"

Before Yroa could finish his sentence, he had been successfully transferred to the world of Yassimhre, leaving not a single molecule of his existence in this expansive starlight realm.

"May you achieve glory, and the title of the Weaver of Ornamental yourself." The Worldsmith fully gazed back to the tapestry of branching fates once again. "May the Grand Filament be wealthy, and may the darkness be ever consuming and unsatiated.

"May I finally find my fated half."