THE VILLAIN'S POV Chapter 857 The Awakening (1)

Held within his mother's embrace, Nameless grasped the profound truth concealed behind his existence. Frey, too, experienced this revelation... witnessing all with his own eyes and hearing every word his mother uttered.

The Nameless of the past seemed fractured upon learning the truth. The weight of it was immense—even for him—and he struggled to comprehend its gravity.

His eyes shimmered with unshed tears as he gazed upwards at her.

"...You... you are the one who conjured the demons?"

Dark, malevolent entities... responsible for the demise of countless lives since their inception.

How many worlds... how many civilizations... how many races had been annihilated due to their existence?

The Krat race was but one among thousands that had vanished without a trace.

And it would not be an overstatement to say... that the woman standing before him bore direct responsibility for it all.

The weight of those innumerable souls—their transgressions, their sorrow... rested upon her shoulders.

And yet... she remained utterly indifferent.

"You do not mean to tell me you care for them?" she inquired, her voice laced with frost.

"They are naught but creations spun from our quills... existences that can be reproduced at any moment."

Her pronouncements carried a peculiar force... one that could bend the resolve of any listener.

Even Nameless himself... felt its impact.

No... more than any other.

For he was her son.

For he had been nurtured by her.

Clea was prepared to obliterate every living being within the world of Land of Survival, if required... merely to recover her family, confront that monstrous entity known as Agaroth, slay him... and reclaim the artifact concealed within him.

She exuded an air of emotionless resolve—her presence overwhelming, her aura suffocating.

There was an undeniable nobility about her... a crushing gravitas that made meeting her ruby-like gaze an arduous feat.

Even Nameless found himself averting his gaze whenever their eyes met.

And yet... beneath that icy exterior...

Clea harbored a deep affection for her kin.

For her firstborn son.

For her husband, who was also ensnared within that realm.

Though she concealed it from public view... the sentiment was palpable.

She was a woman of unwavering determination—one who understood her obligations, and the immense role thrust upon her as the bearer of the First Writer title.

That singular responsibility anchored her to the Aether world, where her presence was vital to contain the creatures emerging from the Mist.

Had it not been for that burden...

She would have ventured into the Land of Survival long ago.

She had endured the wait.

And endured it.

For an immeasurable duration.

What they were witnessing presently... was merely a phantom of the past.

Because the future... had already been irrevocably altered.

Clea had reached her breaking point.

And thus... she enacted a desperate gambit.

She compelled the worlds to converge—fusing the Aether world with the realm of Land of Survival.

Consequently, she gained the ability to exist in both planes simultaneously.

But in doing so... she also cracked open the portal.

A portal through which the horrors from the Aether could infiltrate that world—originating from the enigmatic continent that materialized from nowhere.

That very continent... where the most formidable cultivators of Land of Survival were currently engaged in combat—oblivious to the fact that the ground beneath them served as naught but a conduit...

...to a dimension teeming with unimaginable dread.

The First Writer had made her arrival.

With but two objectives.

To retrieve her beloved family...

...and to vanquish the monstrous entity known as Agaroth.

But that was the present scenario.

And this recollection hearkened back to the past.

At that juncture, Clea still possessed the willingness to prolong her vigil... entrusting the task's burden onto her son's shoulders.

And so, she murmured to Nameless—her words imbued with suggestive power, aiming to impress upon him the insignificance of the beings populating his world.

Then, sensing his lingering reluctance...

She drew near, her lips close to his ear.

And whispered softly...

"You have extinguished many of them yourself... haven't you?"

The inquiry struck a deep chord.

A truth too sensitive to acknowledge.

Nameless... and his arduous path.

His experiments—the catalyst for the demise of countless sentient beings, spanning myriad races.

"You terminated them with your own hands... so very many," she elaborated.

"Perhaps I precipitated the death of far greater numbers... but unlike you, my hands were never defiled by their blood."

"It proved effortless, did it not?"

"Profoundly so..."

"You felt no remorse when you ended their existence. To you, they were merely instruments... tools to achieve an objective."

"And you were not mistaken in that assessment."

"They were crafted to enact the desires of their creator. That is their sole purpose."

"So do not falter, my cherished child."

"Proceed... annihilate to the extent required."

"Fulfill the mission bestowed upon you... and return to my side."

Her voice permeated every fiber of Nameless's being...

And Frey's as well.

It felt as if every particle of his soul yearned to comply with her command—to appease her.

As if that singular purpose... constituted the entirety of his existence.

"Mother... I..."

Nameless quivered slightly within her comforting hold.

He offered no resistance, enveloped by an unfamiliar sense of solace within her embrace. The reason was disarmingly simple: she was his mother. And regardless of her past coldness or her convoluted reasoning, her love for him was genuine. No matter how harsh she appeared, no matter the chasm in their beliefs, he found himself unable to truly oppose her. His desire was to remain there, held in that embrace eternally, a dutiful son who never once defied his mother.

Simultaneously, however, a cacophony of billions of voices thundered within his mind, each word distinct and clear. Ever since he'd come into contact with that black book, a single touch had irrevocably shaken his mind and soul, unveiling the hidden realities of his world and the entities that inhabited it. They were alive, not mere puppets or tools, but sentient beings who had evolved independently, shaping their own destinies. Some had even attained a level of power that could rival true existence itself, should they ever venture into the tangible Aether world.

Nameless, who had long grappled with an existential void, now confronted a far more terrifying revelation: the profound truth about the lives that had sprung forth from him. The emergence of emotions only amplified his suffering. The burden of truth, compounded by the pressure from his mother, whose toxic influence had permeated his consciousness the moment he grasped the full extent of his reality, threatened to shatter him. The Nameless of yesteryear felt his head would split asunder, a state made worse by his incomplete existence, lacking even the basic ability to control his own power.

Mere minutes elapsed before the Aether realm, sensing his compromised state, began to expel him. His physical form remained in the real world, but his soul was now ensnared within this realm, alongside his captive father. Taking a steadying breath, Nameless lifted his head, his gaze meeting his mother's with newfound resolve, his eyes mirroring Frey's own. "Mother… I am your son," he stated with unwavering conviction as his presence in the Aether began to dissipate. "I am your son… so please, trust me. I will rectify everything. Somehow, I will… so please—do not intrude upon my world again. Do not manipulate the beings I have authored with my own hands… I implore you…"

His form fractured like delicate glass, shattering as he bowed before her, a desperate plea escaping him, terrified she might conjure something more monstrous than demons, or worse still, rewrite the existing inhabitants of the Land of Survival, twisting them into something unrecognizable. At that juncture, Nameless remained adrift, uncertain of his path. He required time, and he could not permit his world to suffer further alteration. The demons alone were proving to be a considerable threat. Clea, he understood with chilling clarity after uncovering the truth, was overwhelmingly powerful and entirely capable of further intervention—a prospect he could no longer countenance.

In that precise moment, he couldn't fathom the reason behind it. Was it the sight of her son, a being she had observed for years with unyielding detachment, finally breaking before her? Or was it a surge of longing, awakened by his abject despair? He could not say. Yet, Clea acquiesced to his plea. She ceased her interference in his world. Though no words were spoken, she placed her trust in him and waited. For an immeasurable duration, she held firm. Even when the waiting became unbearable, she entered the Land of Survival—but she did not attempt to reshape it again. No new abominations were created; no existing being was altered. This time, she arrived herself, intending to bring all of it to a definitive end. It was as if she were extending one final opportunity.

Nameless departed the Aether world shortly thereafter. With him, both Frey and the current iteration of Nameless were drawn away. As they were pulled back, Frey could only cast a distant glance at his mother, a bitter ache gnawing at his heart. Once more, Clea's gaze fell upon him, this time as if truly acknowledging him. She remained silent, yet her obsidian eyes met his directly, conveying an entire spectrum of unspoken understanding. It was as though she were entrusting this monumental task to him, just as she had entrusted it to another fragment of his essence. Frey still possessed scant knowledge of the Aether world, but in exchange, he now understood everything about his own domain: the world of the Land of Survival.