My God domain is the endless abyss Chapter 74: Price to Pay

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Previously on My God domain is the endless abyss...
7 Cillian directly confronted a sentient brain worm in Damon's domain. The creature, granted life and awareness by Cillian's actions, questioned the purpose of its existence and the pain it experienced. Damon, showing empathy for the creature's plight, relayed its questions to Cillian. Cillian then entered Damon's domain to answer the brain worm personally, explaining that life is inherently painful and meaning is created through endurance and will.
As the brain worm, wracked by unbearable agony, extended its quivering appendages towards the phantom black mist Cillian conjured, a profound shift occurred within it. In that precise instant. Though its existence had hitherto lacked any discernible meaning since sentience dawned, an inexplicable urge to cling to life surged. It recoiled, drawing its limbs inward, a gesture of desperate adherence to the faintest flicker of existence. The torment persisted, a suffering beyond the comprehension of any mortal being. This was not a pain of flesh or spirit, but the very essence of agony, distilled and purified by Cillian from the scattered soul fragments of the Endless Abyss. While this method bore the semblance of divinity, it was noted that divine fire could readily replicate such a feat for most gods. Indeed, higher realms' auction houses offered conceptual entities known as 'deaths,' purchasable artifices akin to this refined torment. These were no mere phantoms or hexes, but materialized ideas of suffering, causing no physical or spiritual harm. Their nature was pure pain, an existence that plunged the victim into ceaseless anguish, eclipsing any torture conceivable by mortals. "Squeak... ah..." The brain worm writhed upon the frigid floor, its slender form contorted in relentless spasms. Yet, Cillian remained unconcerned about the creature's mental fortitude. He was acutely aware that the Zerg nervous system operated on a vastly different paradigm from that of humanoids. What would shatter a human mind was, to a Zerg, merely an excruciating but survivable ordeal. After enduring close to an hour of violent convulsions, the brain worm finally fell silent, collapsing weakly upon itself. Damon promptly summoned two lesser brains. The nutrient-dense tissues were presented to the prostrate creature, which instinctively began to consume them, one after another. Upon devouring several brains, the creature's tremors subsided, and it slowly regained its posture. "I do not comprehend," it vocalized, its voice a fragile whisper yet filled with contemplation. "I cannot fathom why I resisted death with such tenacity. I had convinced myself my thoughts were meaningless, yet... I fought against oblivion." The brain worm raised its gaze to Cillian, its query infused with an almost childlike sincerity: "Why?" Cillian offered a faint smile. "Truthfully," he confessed, "that question eludes me as well." "I am no philosopher or sage. I make no pretense of grasping such ultimate verities." The worm observed him with its myriad eyes, awaiting his response. "But do you not believe," Cillian continued, his tone measured, "that now that you possess the capacity for thought, you can embark on a quest to find that answer for yourself?" He took a deliberate step forward, his voice low yet distinctly audible. "All the distress and bewilderment you experienced earlier stemmed from a lack of purpose, a void in direction. But now that you have a focus, a goal, does that same confusion linger?" The brain worm became motionless. Its intellect, sharp yet guileless, grappled with the query. At that moment, Damon interjected, transmitting a mental impulse to facilitate its cognitive process. Following a brief silent communion, the worm finally gave a subtle nod. "Thank you for addressing my question," it stated softly. "However, one aspect remains unclear." "Why did you bestow life upon me initially? Do you aspire to be my progenitor?" It tilted its head, its voice unnervingly placid. "But that role is already claimed by the Hive Mind. You cannot supplant my genesis. Or... do you seek to contest her for the title of..." Cillian raised a hand, halting its further inquiry. "That particular query is far more straightforward." "The reason I granted you sentience and thought was not due to any grand divine design. It was merely a passing fancy, a moment of idle curiosity." His gaze hardened. "To me, you are nothing more than a rare specimen. An unintended consequence." "Your newfound intelligence holds little significance. What truly captures my interest is the knowledge contained within your mind, the intricacies of the swarm's structure, the hidden workings of the Hive Will's network. That is your true worth." "In essence," he concluded flatly, "you were an anomaly." The brain worm acknowledged this without hesitation. "I understand." No anger, no gratitude, no despair emanated from it. Zerg entities had long since shed such primitive emotions. Their evolutionary trajectory had systematically purged all elements deemed non-essential for survival. Complex feelings were viewed as liabilities that weakened the collective. "Lord," Damon interjected hastily, perceiving a subtle alteration in Cillian's demeanor, "the brain worm possesses immense significance within the Endless Abyss. It is far more than a mere specimen for dissection." His words were uttered with caution, aware of Cillian's capacity to obliterate the creature should its utility wane. "I have already concluded my analysis of its biological makeup," Cillian responded. "As you surmised, apart from its cerebral structure, its physical form is virtually indistinguishable from that of a standard Zerg."

"The presence of a singular neural organ, directly linked to communication with the swarm, is what designates it as a ’Will-node.’ Genetically, it presents no difference from the others."

"This implies," he deduced, "that every peculiar mutation we observe, every variant among them, is merely a random genetic anomaly that occurs during their hatching."

A silence descended as Cillian’s eyes widened, a flicker of understanding igniting within them.

"So, all the Zerg," Cillian mused aloud, "are just the same damned insects? The warriors, the gatherers, the monstrous swarm beasts – they’re all identical?"

The creature that was a brain worm slowly shook its head, an action that bore an uncanny resemblance to a human gesture.

"Great Lord of the Abyss," it intoned, "your comprehension is partially accurate, yet it remains incomplete."

"At their essence, guided by the will of the Hive, all Zerg are indeed equal. The notions of individuality and distinction hold no meaning for us. The categorization into combat or worker forms is purely functional. Fundamentally, we are all one and the same."

"You can conceptualize it thusly: the Hive Mind, the legions of combatants, the developing larvae, the diligent cleaners, each of us..."

"...is a singular entity. Each one of us is but a sliver of the Mother Hive."

Cillian’s expression underwent a subtle shift. A faint, icy sensation permeated his being as the full weight of these implications began to solidify in his mind.

A profound, primal unease started to coil within him.

He turned his gaze back towards the creature, his voice now resonating with a deeper, almost somber tone.

"Then," he inquired, his words carrying a newfound gravity, "if that is indeed the case... does this mean there exists no singular ’Master Brain’ among your species?"

He took a deliberate step closer.

"As long as even one of you persists, a single bug, the entirety of the swarm can never be…"

His voice faltered, the conclusion hanging in the air.

"…truly annihilated?"

In response to Cillian’s query, the brain worm offered an immediate and unwavering nod.

"Precisely so, Great Lord of the Abyss. Your deduction is impeccable."

"As long as a solitary insect, or more accurately, a single manifestation of the Hive Mind, continues to draw breath, and provided sufficient resources are available, the Hive will inevitably reconstitute itself."

"However, to provide a more precise understanding, as long as our Zerg genetic code endures, the Hive’s will shall reawaken the moment we secure a new Mother."

Cillian’s countenance darkened precipitously. For a fleeting moment, he perceived an oppressive proximity to death itself.

It was not a terror inspired by the Zerg's might that sent a shiver down his spine, but rather the stark truth unveiled by the brain worm's words—a profound oversight on his part.

These Zerg were far removed from the crude, rudimentary beings that were once fashioned by deities for their amusement and experimental diversions.

Indeed, these entities possessed a vitality that transcended the established divine order.

⸻———x——————

Meanwhile, in a different locale...

Within an opulent strategic command chamber, suspended high above the tumultuous expanse of the battlefield, the Angel of Punishment, Peter, regarded the three-dimensional holographic sand table before him with a profound frown.

Across its illuminated surface, a myriad of blue markers depicted the relentless advance of Heaven’s Army legions. Yet, amidst this vast formation, a solitary red dot pulsed erratically, its position deviating markedly from the main body of troops.

"Maeve," Peter’s voice cut through the metallic resonance of the chamber, sharp and demanding. "Explain the deceleration in the advance of the 7304th Heaven Legion. Their arrival at the northern perimeter was anticipated last week."

Maeve, the angel positioned beside him, stirred, her eyes opening as sparks erupted from the metallic conduits running along her spine. Her voice, a synthesized echo, reverberated throughout the sanctuary.

"My brother Peter, pray accept my apologies for the 7304th Legion's delayed progress," she articulated softly. "Their commander's physical form was obliterated yesterday. While the soul was successfully retrieved, the reserve vessel on the flagship sustained damage during the recent engagement with the airborne Zerg. It will necessitate approximately two to three days before the commander can resume their post at the front lines."

"The legion is presently under the temporary command of the deputy commander. His combat aptitude and strategic command capabilities are demonstrably superior to…"

"Enough. I comprehend your explanation," Peter interjected, his tone laced with impatience.

He reclined in his seat, a distinct wave of irritation crossing his features. Candidly, he harbored a deep disdain for Maeve.

Her being, an amalgamation of organic flesh and sophisticated machinery, stood as a testament to divine bio-engineering prowess, her intellect capable of processing computational data surpassing any supercomputer within Heaven’s arsenal. Nevertheless, to Peter, she was an entity devoid of true spirit.

Her transfiguration had irrevocably diminished her former beauty, replaced her natural voice with grating static, and systematically purged her emotional spectrum. She perceived warfare as mere algebraic equations and regarded death as a statistical probability. To Peter, this cold, detached perspective rendered her utterly intolerable.

Despite his aversion, her utility was undeniable. Without her dispassionate analytical capabilities, he would remain effectively blind to a significant portion of the chaos engulfing the battlefield.

"Maeve," he commanded, his tone regaining its customary frigidity, "initiate a comprehensive scan of the planetary surface. Ascertain the location of the Zerg’s central command nexus."

The holographic sand table flickered, its light shifting dynamically, revealing zones aflame, impact scars marring the landscape, and skies ablaze. The protracted conflict had endured for two weeks, a span that felt like an eternity when measured in the currency of shed blood.

In this era defined by cosmic warfare, a fortnight constituted little more than a fleeting skirmish by celestial standards. However, for the soldiers of Heaven, their wills and spirits bound by mortal limitations, this period represented an agonizing descent into the abyss of despair.

Humanity and the celestial armies' humanoid champions grew weary, yearning for respite. The Zerg, however, showed no such inclination.

They surged from all directions, an unending tide.

In confrontations with such monstrous entities, the very notion of time became irrelevant. Only two outcomes existed: either the Zerg were utterly eradicated, or they overwhelmed all existence.

Now, Heaven's Army teetered on that precarious precipice.

Despite their miraculous technological advancements and divine fire blessings, their soldiers could manage only two hours of rest before rejoining the fray. While their physical bodies might endure the strain, their minds... their minds were fracturing.

No enchantment or divine apparatus could provide what they fundamentally required: stillness.

A single hour of tranquility.

"Scan complete, Peter," Maeve's voice pierced the strained silence. "I have pinpointed seven hundred and sixty-nine nodes exhibiting signatures consistent with a Hive Mind. Shall I deploy strike forces to cleanse each identified coordinate?"

Peter's eyes lost some of their luster, fatigue etching shadows beneath the gold within them.

He gazed upon the luminous sand table, its countless crimson markers pulsating like open, festering wounds.

"Maeve," he inquired after a prolonged silence, "among these seven hundred and sixty-nine nodes... can you discern which one represents the true Hive Mind?"

Maeve's mechanical head tilted fractionally, the subtle whirring of gears audible beneath her synthetic skin.

"I apologize, Peter," she responded. "Each time we eliminate a Hive Mind, the surrounding Zerg forces experience a temporary disarray. However, within a mere ten minutes, a new node emerges."

"Our analysis presents three potential explanations."

Her optical sensors flickered, displaying shifting streams of code.

"One: we have only managed to sever the Hive Mind's tendrils, failing to strike its principal core. The connection to the swarm was disrupted but rapidly re-established."

"Two: the Hive Mind's true essence was indeed annihilated, yet its consciousness reconstitutes itself through the remaining Zerg units. We must devise a strategy to impede this regeneration."

"Three: the Hive Mind's actual form remains concealed beyond our detection capabilities. Our assaults may have been misguided, serving merely as diversions; essentially, bait. A comprehensive rescan is imperative."

Peter expelled a sharp breath, his hand raking through his golden locks.

"Three possibilities..." he mused aloud. "That's merely a more elaborate way of admitting you have no definitive answer."

He struck the edge of the table with a clenched fist, the holographic projection rippling unnaturally from the impact.

"We can detect their hive signals through the divine fire. We can perceive their collective will propagating across the battlefield. Yet, despite the sheer volume we incinerate, their central consciousness refuses to perish."

His voice deepened, carrying an edge of desperation.

"If this dreadful pattern persists, this conflict will devolve into an unending stalemate. An eternal nightmare."

His assessment was undeniably accurate.

As long as the Hive Mind remained intact, the swarm's relentless multiplication would continue unabated.

Even a single surviving Zerg could reconstruct a formidable nest within minutes, rapidly consuming surrounding resources to spawn tens of millions more.

Peter himself had witnessed this grim cycle of annihilation and resurgence, the profound futility inherent in every Pyrrhic victory.

Although the Heavenly Army had expunged over seventy percent of the Zerg infestation, the remaining thirty percent stubbornly refused to dissipate.

He directed his gaze toward the distant, desolate horizon, where ominous gray clouds churned like boiling cinders and jagged lightning rent the sky. His jaw clenched, a tempest of fury and frustration simmering beneath his outwardly composed demeanor.

"Damn it," he uttered under his breath. "That insufferably arrogant fool prohibited the major legions from maintaining their own dedicated research divisions. Had I even a single laboratory under my direct command, I would have unraveled the Zerg's fundamental secret by now."

"May it all be damned. If only I retained even a fragment of my former intellect..."

"...the situation would undoubtedly be vastly different."

He fell silent, and for a fleeting moment, his expression softened, not from weakness, but from the poignant weight of memory.

The Angels had once been paragons of brilliance—formidable warriors, ingenious scientists, profound thinkers. Yet, upon ascending the sacred Heaven Mountain, they had paid a steep price.

They had willingly surrendered their innate capacity for learning.

Their hearts, once vast expanses of intellectual curiosity and groundbreaking discovery, had been irrevocably fractured, replaced by an unyielding, eternal obedience.

Peter slowly, deliberately, clenched his fist.

The cacophony of the surrounding war raged on, a relentless symphony of destruction.