CHAPTER 12

A fissure tore through reality, a tenebrous, circular whirlpool reflecting in Matrix's eyes. He ushered the deceptively timid shapeshifter into the rift.

Armed with scant information, Matrix knew the risks, knowledge of his absence from the Anchor Realm could incite widespread unrest. Though Phantom might quell such uprisings, a discreet agent was paramount – someone to silence the spread of dissent, even if it meant silencing the source. The interesting shapeshifter, he mused, was the ideal candidate. His absence must remain unknown; the Anchor Realm's safety, and perhaps the stability of all realms, depended on it.

"I just hope this works," Matrix thought as the shapeshifter, Awwa, vanished into the swirling portal.

The Xenais's saying—that everyone was driven by something—drunk on something actually, unfurled before him. Each member of this expedition, though unified in purpose, harbored disparate motivations.

The saint sought vengeance and spite. The oracle, solace from grief. The giant, respite from loneliness and depression. His generals obeyed command. The goddess, bound by an oath.

But what drove him, Power? He already possessed it in abundance. Hatred? He had never even truly encountered the immortals. Perhaps the need to protect the masses? Yet, that felt hollow. The immortals targeted gods, and most gods were useless cowards unworthy of his concern. Granted, the universe would suffer should the immortals triumph, and the masses were, by duty, his responsibility, but they were never his priority. He felt no love for them, or indeed, for anything. This still could not explain the fervor with which he sought to end this battle.

Matrix sighed. Perhaps it was mere pride, pure ego, an ingrained loathing of defeat – a lesson hammered into his very being by his father:

To be the predator... always.

Matrix turned to face the grim visages of the gods arrayed behind him, his weary gaze a sharp contrast to the frenetic activity within his mind, searching for the right words.

Ultimately, his brain, delivered the worst possible choice.

"Listen up, everyone," he announced. "The mission is simple: seek out the immortals and destroy them."

I hope they understand it , he thought.

"Any questions?" he added.

"The thing is," Se'mudara lamented, "we don't even know where these immortals are. Where do we even begin to look?"

"True," Matrix conceded. "I do not know where they hide. But I know who might."

"And who is that?"

"Headless Sam."

*

Seven figures emerged from a tear in reality, surprise etched upon their faces.

They found themselves on the outskirts of a desolate ruin. The architecture was primitive, decrepit, and ancient, appearing long-abandoned. A vast, thick forest had overtaken the ruins, its trees starved and leaves blackened, as if evolving over countless years to endure the perpetual twilight of this sunless realm.

Matrix grimaced.

In truth, the Anchor Realm was not a distinct entity. It was instead a convergence point, a fusion of all seventy-two realms into one – a testament to its diverse cultural and racial differences. But this place… he'd only seen it once, briefly. He guessed it was a fragment of the Cyclops Realm, based on old palace records.

"Let's move," Matrix said.

"On foot? You know how ridiculous it is for divine beings like us to be walking around like this?" Se'mudara protested. "Why can't you just portal us to where we're going?"

"I have no vivid mental imagery of anywhere within this forest of ruins," Matrix replied firmly.

"Why don't you and the Saint just fly around for a bit and try to pinpoint the general location of this headless guy, then?" Debyr suggested.

"Pragmatic, but exposing our presence this early is highly unreasonable," Matrix countered.

Debyr scoffed. "You speak as if anything within this forest could actually pose a real threat to us."

She might be right. Few things could truly threaten their group, but having members injured so early in the quest was definitely going to be a problem.

"Complacency is the fastest route to the grave," he replied, his voice clipped. It seemed words came easier when he didn't overthink them.

Scarlet Dust facepalmed. It seemed she was finally breaking her self-imposed silence. Her voice, however, still sounded… hurt. "Knowing you, World King, you'd have already been halfway through this forest, plowing away like a steel-horned beast in search of your headless friend. What are you hiding from us this time? You're never this cautious."

Matrix paused, considering. He would eventually have to reveal his… anomalies. It was necessary to build trust, however fragile, within the group. But the fact that she had recognized his deception so quickly suggested that she was either smarter than he'd given her credit for, or knew him better than he thought.

"I smell trouble." Matrix confessed, his voice low. "I know this might sound ridiculous, but I… can perceive abstract feelings in the form of energy, even if they aren't coming from a sapient source." He braced himself for the disbelief, even his generals weren't privy to this information.

"And that's not all," Matrix dropped the bombshell.

"Seriously? What else can you do, hear colors?" Debyr quipped, her tone incredulous.

"Well, who knows? I was never born a normal god…"

The members of the cohort chuckled, even the gloomy giant's lips curved into a faint smile. Except for Scarlet Dust, who remained resentful.

"My liege, can you tell us everything you know about this Headless Sam, so we can know what we're looking for?" Ys suggested.

"Yes, who's this headless guy, anyway?" Frenzy voiced his curiosity, echoed by everyone else who wasn't too consumed by resentment to speak.

Matrix sighed. These conversations drained him, but he couldn't allow the fragile cohesion he was building to crumble before it even solidified.

So he began, "Sam the Wanderer, from what little I know, was just another fellow who thought he could know better than the gods, than any other being that ever existed."