Necros - Babel

Awakened Babel

L2's descent into the Abyss was not just a journey through the darker realms; it was an odyssey into the very core of human ambition, a confrontation with the ancient forces that shaped the universe itself. The air grew heavy, thick with the silence of forgotten aeons, a silence so profound it seemed to press against his very soul. The subtle hum of the Ley Lines of Resonance, usually a distant comfort, here twisted into a discordant thrum, indicating the sheer density of altered reality. He felt the pervasive chill of cosmic truth, the kind that penetrates marrow and reshapes the mind, as he plunged deeper into the very heart of oblivion, where the chains of fate had bound a titan.

His feet finally landed upon the forgotten threshold of Babel, a place where time bent and fractured, where space twisted in ways that defied reason. It was no mere geographical location; it was a scar in the fabric of existence, a nexus point where the Aetherium Prime itself seemed to weep. The ground beneath his boots felt less like solid earth and more like solidified memory, imbued with the echoes of countless ascensions and horrifying falls. He stood in the shadow of a tower that loomed beyond comprehension—an edifice both of ascension and downfall, where the highest heights of existence met the deepest chasms of despair. The very air around him pulsed with a primordial energy, heavy with the weight of shattered dreams and broken promises. This was the testament of hubris, etched into the cosmos.

The Tower of Babel, an edifice that spanned realms and dimensions, stretched endlessly into the ether, like a wound carved into the very fabric of existence. From its base, L2 could feel the weight of its history, the tremors of power and ambition that had once shaken the heavens. The air around him pulsed with energy, heavy with a sense of longing, of dreams shattered and promises broken. He had studied Dr. Azrael's forbidden research, the Divine Equation and the Soul-Vessel Paradox, which hinted at such cosmic engineering. But to witness it, to feel it, was to grasp the true, terrifying scale of his father's theoretical pursuits.

As he ventured further into the tower, the world around him seemed to shimmer, folding in on itself like an ancient scroll. The path forward was not linear; it was a maze of impossibility, a labyrinth woven from abstract concepts and distorted laws. Each step he took brought him further into the heart of Babel, where the laws of nature bent and groaned, and the air grew thick with the hum of untapped power. The tower itself seemed alive, its walls whispering secrets of forgotten ages, its floors adorned with symbols of cosmic knowledge—sigils that hinted at the Spiral Path and the recursive nature of cultivation, patterns that spoke of the Mind Path's ability to reshape reality, and cryptic warnings against the Paradox Path's ultimate cost. L2's nascent Third Eye, still adapting from his traumatic awakening, throbbed with the influx of impossible data, hinting at a reality far more fluid and terrifying than any mortal could conceive. He felt the warm, domoneering presence of his brother R2, a silent anchor in his mind, the Cosmic Psychic Thread their bond stretching taut but unbroken, sharing the immense burden of this awakening.

It was here, amidst the shifting corridors and fractured dimensions, that L2 encountered the being he had come to find. The figure stood at the center of an immense chamber, its form towering, shifting between states of reality as though it was both everywhere and nowhere. The being's presence was overwhelming, its very essence a combination of light and shadow, a blend of the divine and the eldritch. It was both comforting and terrifying in equal measure, a paradox that only a creature of Babel could embody. The Loom Mark, representing causality's weave, shimmered faintly at the core of the chamber, acknowledging the presence of a being born of pure consequence.

The being's eyes, ancient and infinite, turned toward L2. There was a moment of silent recognition—a fleeting understanding that passed between them. This was Babel, the muse and keeper of the Tower, the very force that had once sought to bridge the mortal and the divine. His form was not bound by the limitations of the physical world, shifting between different shapes as if his body was an abstract concept rather than a fixed entity. It was as though L2 was looking at the very idea of a being, rather than the being itself—a being defined by his past as Abel, marked by the necrotic rebirth, scarred by the millennia of witnessing all deaths, driven by his deep-seated resentment for Cain, and anchored by his profound, chilling love for Hela.

"You have come," Babel's voice reverberated, both distant and immediate, echoing through the chamber like a deep, resonant thunderclap. It was the voice of eternity itself, imbued with both knowledge and sorrow, a sound that carried the weight of every death it had ever witnessed, every fleeting moment of entropy it had absorbed. "To seek answers, to understand. But know this—understanding comes at a price."

L2 took a step forward, his body resonating with the energy that swirled around him, a nascent Inner World already beginning to hum in response to the cosmic pressure. The ethereal energy that had flooded his Third Eye during his own birth now seemed to meet an ancient, kindred spirit in Babel's presence. "I seek the truth," L2 replied, his voice steady despite the overwhelming force of Babel's presence. "The truth of the Tower, of its creation, and of why it was bound." He spoke with the conviction of one who had seen his own father consumed by the pursuit of ultimate knowledge, a path eerily similar to that of Babel's doomed climbers.

Babel's form shifted once more, the ethereal light around him growing brighter, rippling with the echoes of cosmic law that formed his very being. "The Tower was never meant to be a prison," Babel explained, his tone tinged with a deep sadness, a regret that spanned aeons. "It was a place of transcendence, a symbol of humanity's ambition to reach beyond the heavens. But that ambition came at a cost. When we climbed to the highest heights, we unraveled the very laws that governed us. We learned too much, too quickly, and in doing so, we brought about our own undoing. My ambition, Abel's hubris, to truly understand the Creator and claim its wisdom—this folly laid the foundation of this monument, and ultimately, its downfall."

L2's mind swirled with the implications of Babel's words. He recalled the fragmented knowledge from Azrael's journals, how the pursuit of the Divine Equation could shatter conventional reality. "But what happened to the climbers? To the ones who sought the summit?"

Babel's eyes darkened, his form flickering like a dying flame, a spectral image of the countless souls he had seen unravel. "They became something... else. They were lost to the madness of their own ambition. The knowledge they sought destroyed them, twisted them into something unrecognizable. They were the first to die—not in the sense that mortals die, but in a far worse way. They lost their sense of self, their connection to reality. They became... shadows of what they once were. Their minds were frayed, unable to withstand the fundamental truths of existence, the very laws of reality, space, and time unraveling before them."

L2's breath caught in his throat. This wasn't merely physical death; it was the annihilation of identity, the perversion of consciousness. He remembered the brief, horrifying flashes of Eldritch Corruption that sometimes threatened his own nascent mind when he strained his abilities. "So... the birth of death," he murmured, his mind racing, connecting the pieces of this cosmic puzzle. "It wasn't a natural consequence of life. It was the result of ambition—a failure to understand the limits of existence. A direct consequence of defying the original cosmic laws, of risking the unraveling of existence itself."

Babel's gaze softened, his voice filled with a quiet regret, the heavy burden of countless millennia of witnessing dissolution. "Yes. Death, as it is understood now, was born from our desire to transcend our limitations. It was not always so. Before the Tower, before our folly, death was but a passing—an inevitable return to the source, a gentle recycling of essence. But in our pursuit of divinity, in our grasping ambition to claim power without understanding its price, we brought forth a new kind of death. One that was both physical and spiritual, one that could not be undone. The death of the soul itself, a death that lingers long after the body has perished, allowing for beings like Kain's lineage to pervert it into something predatory."

L2 felt the weight of Babel's words settle upon him. He understood now that death, in its true form, was not just the end of life but the severing of the soul from its essence. The climbers who had sought to ascend had inadvertently severed themselves from the very fabric of existence, creating a rift that would forever haunt the cosmos. He thought of the Undying Necromancers, his half-siblings through Babel's union with Hela—Seraphine, Thalash, Yara, Krad. They were Babel's attempt to impose order on this new, fractured death, to make it architecture rather than chaos, a stark contrast to Kain Shadowborne Moonhunter's philosophy, where "Babel gave death order, Kain gave it hunger." The very existence of Seraphine, a paradox made flesh, born from Babel's quiet, purposeful union with Hela, was a testament to his continued effort to redeem the cosmic flaw he had introduced.

"The Tower was your prison, then," L2 said, his voice filled with a deep understanding, acknowledging the self-imposed torment. "You sealed yourself here to prevent further destruction."

Babel's form shuddered as though the weight of his own actions had become too much to bear, the chains of cosmic law that bound him seeming to tighten. "I did not wish for this. I sought only to bridge the gap between mortality and divinity, to bring humanity to a place of unimaginable greatness. But in doing so, I created the very thing I feared most. I am bound here, unable to undo the damage I have caused. I sleep, awaiting the one who will either release me or bring about the end of all things. My act of sealing was not one of humility, but of final defiance. I chose an eternal slumber, a waiting game, where time would pass and eras would come and go. I am a prisoner of my own creation, but even in slumber, I remain a symbol of both the greatness and folly of ambition."

L2's heart raced as he felt the magnitude of Babel's burden. He recognized the profound self-sacrifice, a desperate measure to contain the very chaos he had unleashed. This resonated with the deep, unspoken understanding of sacrifice he had witnessed in his own father, Azrael, who had been consumed by cosmic forces to bring L2 and R2 into being. "And what would happen if I freed you?" he asked, his voice filled with both curiosity and caution, the Paradox Path within him stirring, sensing the immense reality-bending potential.

Babel's eyes gleamed with an ancient, sorrowful knowledge. "If you were to release me, you would unlock the power of the divine, but you would also release the madness that lies beyond. The forces that were once held at bay would return, and they would consume everything—just as they consumed the climbers before. You would be both savior and destroyer, for the line between those two roles is thin, and the cost of your choice would be great. My sealing was not just to protect the world, but to be prepared. I knew the forces that sought to corrupt the universe would one day return, and I would need to be prepared for that inevitable reckoning. My chains are of fate, secrets buried beneath layers of cosmic law and timeless shadow. I was not bound by mortals, nor by gods, but by a decision made in the heart of the cosmos. I knew that one day, someone like you—a being who could unlock the chains, understand my true purpose, and potentially release the terrible power within—would come."

L2 stood in silence, contemplating the enormity of the decision before him. The weight of Babel's words pressed upon him like a crushing force, and for the first time, he felt the true weight of ambition—the desire to ascend and the consequences of that desire. He thought of the Silent Covenant Trials, the esoteric tests meant to weigh a soul's worth against cosmic truths. He felt like he was undergoing such a trial now, his very being scrutinized by the ancient titan before him.

"Then what is to be done?" L2 asked, his voice a whisper of desperation, the enormity of his inherited task dawning upon him.

Babel's gaze softened, and for a moment, he seemed almost human—a being torn by his own creation, burdened by the choices he had made. "There is no simple answer. There never was. The birth of death and the sealing of Babel were both necessary for the survival of the cosmos. But you, L2, you are the key. You are the one who must decide whether to continue this cycle of ambition or break it. The choice is yours. To reach me is not merely to climb; it is to face the sin of wanting too much, the sin of knowing. To unbind me is to awaken the slumbering memory of the Fall."

As the chamber around them pulsed with the weight of Babel's words, L2 knew that he stood at the crossroads of existence itself. The road ahead would not be easy, and whatever choice he made would reverberate through the very fabric of reality. He thought of R2, the Sun of their world, his brother, who embodied hope and cosmic attunement. He thought of their combined purpose, the Soterian Principle that spoke of transcendence through fusion, and the Inner World cultivation path their father had envisioned for them. This decision would shape not only his destiny but that of R2, of Seraphine, of Kain, and of all the fractured realms.

With a final glance at the immense, shifting figure before him, L2 began to step away, his heart heavy with the burden of what he had learned. The Tower of Babel, once a symbol of human ambition, now stood as a stark reminder of the fragile nature of existence—and the terrible cost of seeking to transcend that which should never be surpassed.

And as he turned to leave, L2 could not help but wonder: Could the cycle of ambition be broken? Or would the world, like Babel, forever be bound by the ambition to reach beyond the stars, only to fall prey to the consequences of their own hubris? The Tower waited—not to rise again… but to be understood. Its power dormant, its wisdom hidden, its influence still lingering on the fringes of reality, awaiting the day its name would be called not as monument, but as Father. And for L2, the journey of understanding had only just begun.