THE VILLAIN'S POV Chapter 856 The Truth Behind Everything (3)

Nameless recoiled instantly, yanking his hand away as he stumbled backward, raw fear twisting his features.

He lurched until his back slammed against the towering shelves… books exploding open around him.

From their pages, voices erupted… shrieks, murmurs, peals of laughter, sobs of sorrow, roars of rage, bursts of joy, hisses of hatred.

A deafening symphony of emotions unfurled before him… unveiling entire universes.

Tears sprang to his eyes.

He crumpled to the floor, hands clamped to his head.

"What… what is this…" he choked out, fighting for each breath.

For the very first time in his existence…

He wept.

He cried with abandon, his eyes burning crimson, pulsing with a vitality they had never known.

His body convulsed uncontrollably…

Until she glided forward and cupped his face, her touch sending an arctic chill through his system.

In that precise moment… he finally grasped it.

He was utterly at her whim.

And yet… he offered no resistance to her gentle grip.

"You comprehend now… don't you?" she inquired softly.

Nameless responded, his voice laced with tremor.

"This place… it is… the Aether… no…"

"…the true world."

His entire frame quaked as the profound truth permeated his being.

"The material realm… I…"

"Precisely," she affirmed, nodding delicately as she drew him into a serene embrace.

"That is not the material realm."

"It is your world… the one you yourself inscribed into reality."

"You are a Writer… much like myself… and like your misguided father standing yonder."

"You are a being of far greater… far loftier stature than any other creature."

Frey… had been a Writer.

Abraham… was one too.

And the woman before him now…

Was his mother.

The First Writer.

The designation of First Writer was never permanently fixed to one soul; rather, it served as a mantle, bestowed upon the most formidable among their kind. It was neither singular nor everlasting.

And this… was the revelation Nameless came to comprehend.

Just as the woman who bore that esteemed title had proclaimed, Writers transcended all other beings.

They wielded the extraordinary ability to conjure entire existences—enshrined within artifacts resembling books, known as Codex.

They possessed the power to sculpt those manifested worlds… to traverse them at will… and even to reside within them, should the inclination strike.

And frequently, they did. The myriad of books scattered around them were undeniable testament to this reality.

However, not all created worlds were formed equal. Some were rudimentary, almost insignificant… akin to children's fables.

Others… were vastly more intricate.

Such as the one Frey had brought forth.

"You have dwelled within your creation for far too long… to the extent that you became an intrinsic part of it," the woman stated, holding Nameless securely within her arms.

Writers could indeed step into their own constructs, but prolonged immersion carried a steep consequence.

Their very identities would slowly dissolve… until they became utterly indistinguishable from the world they inhabited.

And that… was precisely the fate that befell Frey.

"Your existence is fragmented… your self is incomplete. You cannot remain in the true world for extended periods in this condition. Your own creation will inexorably draw you back soon."

"Therefore, pay the utmost attention to what I am about to impart."

Her voice resonated, freezing him in his tracks, as if an unseen force within him mandated absolute compliance.

"Your world… has been designated as the primary theatre for the monumental conflict against the Lords of the Mist."

"It is also within it that we secreted away the Tool of Creation."

"The very instrument you illicitly employed—without authorization—to forge that monstrosity…"

"…the entity you christened yourself as—Agaroth."

Agaroth… had been conceived with a singular objective.

To annihilate Odin.

To bring about his ultimate demise.

Yet, it defied its progenitor—turning hostile against Frey, attempting to consume him… to break free from the material realm and materialize within the true one.

It did not succeed.

But that singular act… laid the groundwork for all subsequent events.

Following the betrayal, and subsequent to the war against the Pale Calamity… Frey's very essence fractured beyond repair.

He became tethered to the material plane—reliving it endlessly under myriad aliases… diverse personas.

"When a Writer perishes within their own world, they do not truly cease to exist," she elaborated, her tone unwavering.

"They awaken within the true world."

"But you… never returned. Regardless of how many times demise claimed you."

"This occurred because your soul became irrevocably bound… to that specific world… and to its inhabitants."

She shifted slightly, glancing towards the man behind her… towards Abraham.

"After you became ensnared within, your father ventured into your creation to extract you… and to recover the Tool of Creation."

"Alas, he too failed… and became trapped himself."

"Your siblings followed suit."

"And that detestable entity… annihilated them all. Expelled them utterly."

Agaroth had ruthlessly slain every offspring who dared enter.

Consumed them.

However, it proved incapable of truly ending them—they merely found themselves reborn in the true world.

That… was the reason Seth had manifested before Frey.

His younger brother had come the closest… had striven the hardest to rescue him.

Even in vanquishment, he had left behind a crucial element.

The System.

A guiding apparatus… intended to steer Frey toward his destiny.

The father had failed.

The children had failed.

And the mother… was compelled to stay.

To confront the terrors of the Mist.

To uphold the balance.

"Writers are forbidden from meddling in one another's worlds," she stated.

"But you and I… have always been the exception."

"We exist on a plane above the rest."

"Thus, I intervened."

"I brought forth the demons… entities that subsist solely on life force itself."

"Beings conceived to usher in death… to obliterate all that lives."

Such was their designated mission.

To bring ruin to the world… and compel Frey to abandon it.

And so, the very first demon came into being—Manus.

"However, that abomination grasped my intentions instantly," she continued, her tone growing sharper.

"He seized absolute control… proclaimed himself their monarch… and subjugated them to his will."

Agaroth was never truly a demon.

He represented something far different.

Something far more sinister.

Something imbued with greater strength.

Potent enough… to command them all.

"Following that, I dispatched my followers."

"I commanded Audrey to locate you—but that ineffectual girl faltered and fell into captivity."

"The other one… while competent… merely observed from a distance."

"His delay was considerable… yet, at the very least… he left behind the clues that guided you to this place."

Her hold on Nameless intensified.

"I require your presence here, Frey."

"I need you by my side."

"I need you to achieve the destiny you were meant for."

"You are the sole individual capable of reaching my level of power."

"And every fleeting moment you linger in that insignificant world… it brings me anguish."

Her voice softened.

"My forbearance is waning, Frey."

"It has already reached its absolute limit."

"Return… and put an end to the monstrosity you unleashed."

"Or I shall conclude it myself."

Nameless absorbed every syllable.

Each and every word.

Every echo of her fractured psyche.

And through him… Frey became aware as well.

And the Nameless of the present moment.

Her ultimatum resonated within their minds.

And with it… a profound realization dawned.

"The enigmatic continent that materialized from nowhere…"

Her patience had evaporated.

She consequently chose to descend personally.

The future had dissolved into utter chaos.

And at long last… the fundamental truth behind all events was brought to light.

Abraham had accomplished the inconceivable—re-entering the material realm repeatedly, each time Frey manifested… assuming the role of his father in every subsequent existence.

As for his purported family…

They were nothing more than mere imitations.

Facsimiles that Frey had inadvertently conjured—modeled after his true mother… and his actual siblings.

This was the reason for their uncanny resemblance.

They possessed no genuine existence.

Only Abraham truly existed.

The sole entity that endured.

The only being to achieve reincarnation… time and time again.

Every cataclysm.

Every devastating event that convulsed the world.

Even the demons.

Even Agaroth.

All of it…

All of it… originated from a singular familial line.

And what a lineage it turned out to be.

In the end…

It had invariably revolved around family.

And the most formidable among them…

Was poised to make their descent.

The mother…

Clea.