It was common knowledge among the inhabitants of Swillberg. There was something quite substantial in the town's very center, proven by the anomalous dread that emanated from this crater.
Streetlights jutted out of the ground in odd angles, and rubble and trash littered the Foeglaze Cradle. Train lights blared with droning chimes as if to proclaim a consistent warning.
In this place, there was a man. A metallic visor covered his eyes, drooping down from a simplistic helm. He was rather tall and impartial to all that passed, his bartender apparel standing out due to its cleanliness. His hands were joined together in a clasp held behind his back, and a large polearm that looked like a condensed pylon was sat at the tips of his few loose fingertips.
Anyone who dared to enter this area was swiftly killed. The man did not speak; the man did not hesitate. Not even the more talkative of the Reapers would spare a couple words about him as if his purpose was a major secret.
May the deathdeities bless whosoever crossed his path. That was a common sentiment that had popped up in many a gaming forum regarding Everything is Bury, even seen as a meme to those in the know. The number of lives reaped by this sentinel of a man was beyond count at this point...
Crash!
Unfortunately for Teret, he didn't stick the landing this time. He had clearly overextended his torso, bidding his tipping over before he had the time to redirect with the Djinn Float.
Poisonous red eyes slid over like a viper, surveying the figure that was rattling around at his feet.
"...An Inhabitant. A Participant. Which are you, little boy."
His voice was a low warble, sounding like heavy tides crashing over a blockade of arranged boulders. His polearm glowed with a dangerous red light, the consistent blaring of the train lights slowing to a crawl.
Teret's head was spinning, and he took a few seconds to regain his bearings. Then, craning his neck upwards at the solitary looming man, he glanced over his streamlined yet robust chassis.
A few more seconds passed in silence. Just as the man was itching to kill, Teret spoke up.
"I'm sorry for taking so long. You look really cool, mister!"
Revealing his bony hands, the skeleton gave the stilled man a big thumbs up. This...
"That is the first time I've been described as such. Your name. Tell it to me..."
The man thought this sight was incongruous and odd but was unable to ruthlessly strike the skeleton before him down. It had all the time in the world to guard...a little talk every now and then could be a nice change.
"I'm Usuku Teret. Please call me Teret, ahehe!"
...
The man's frame creaked with the sound of smashed rebar colliding against even firmer materials. Teret was unbothered by the sound, simply tilting his head as he watched a gloved hand tap the chin belonging to it.
"...Have you come for that which blooms behind the fog? Teret."
Teret tapped what would be the lip area of the mask in contemplation, wondering if he had ever seen those words before. Or heard them...
"Uh? It's not turning up. I haven't heard of it before, cool mister."
The "mister" seemed confused, taking a moment to answer. Then, with his slow intonations, he carefully chose the words flowing from his mouth, almost as if he was formulating an answer as he spoke.
"Do the gods hover your shoulders, little one? No...you do not have the stench of the divine. This is unprecedented. I must ask you a question, pitiful child of Death..."
"Oh! Ask away~!"
Teret didn't miss a beat, settling into a relaxed crisscrossed position. Listening intently, he seemed somehow...bright to the sentinel. How odd it was that this child lacked the greed present in all that had appeared before him.
"Do...you like flowers?"
"...What's a flower?" Teret tilted his head back and forth again at this, drawing a pleasant-looking question mark in the air.
"You are young indeed. To not know of the pleasure of the earth, that which is borne by sacrifice and yielded nutrients. You are but a mere bud, yet you are fresh like Spring. Shall I show you...shall I bestow you...?"
The looming ten-foot-tall figure bent over at the waist, his head craning down upon the skeleton half his size.
"I want to see. Is it too much trouble, though...? You seem very tired?"
"..Ha. Ha. HAHAHAHA!"
The sentinel burst out with a peal of unsteady laughter, his sharp fangs wreathed with spidery tendrils that shimmered and faded.
"...All things have their accompaniments, their conditions. Little child, I will give you a trial. Do you wish to accept?"
Teret nodded without a second of hesitation. Curiosity tinged his mind, and he was quite excited to see what would happen next. The kind of test presented by an existence that overshadowed his strength by considerable margins...what would it be?
"Your enthusiasm is refreshing. The test is simple. I will present a parable, and you will answer it. Three tries, three questions. If you fail, I will purge you from where you sit."
The sentinel proffered three digits, ticking them off one by one. Then, with a simple wave of his hand, a torrent of consolidated mist almost coagulated as it surged upward, blocking off even the sky above.
The reddened tint was now an irreverent gray. Suns were mere disks that were clotted out by the overpowering clouds, but there were rich crimson rays that were relegated to thin lines.
These lines formed a halo that sat behind the sentinel's back.
"In the den of conception, two souls burgeoned in a closed chamber. Their lives were eternal, yet they felt death loom ever closer. A limit was being decided in this place that lacked cessation, with each division ticking the seconds away. What was the death they feared?"
There were eight sharp eyes being directed at Teret, each with a different emotion. A solemn wind blew, bringing a pebble past a flickering streetlight.
The eyes glowed, visible beneath the now translucent helm.
...
(What was the death they feared...division and ticking seconds. What is scary to a being that infinitely grows in a chamber...? Wouldn't it be leaving it? If it was all it had known...)
The world around the skeleton faded into nothingness. The once open area now felt tight; there was only a scant amount of space for his arm to move.
The prosthetic that served as his left upper limb was gone.
It was cold, dry, yet comfortable. But he was afraid of the world beyond it. Above him was a lid unseen.
The place was steadily being chipped away at. He could feel it. He was a creature that was experiencing growth without life, and he had no need to fear death as a whole. But what was this feeling...? Anxiety? A primordial fear...?
Teret glanced around as the area dissipated in a black glow. Before him was a pair of eyes.
Why are you afraid? Do you know? The beginning of one thing is the death of another. You will not die, little soul. You will become the vessel of death...you will guide death...
The being before him was an existence that could not be fathomed. When it spoke, things were already predetermined. What was there to do before such a being?
But it seemed to be friendly, in a way. With its simple words, it was indifferent yet lacking cruelty. Refusing to speak any further, this was the existence's greatest kindness.
For it gave no restraints, naught but one. Teret is not a being that will fear the end of existence, nor will he experience it. The words were entirely open-ended, lacking absolute control.
In a way, it seemed to be telling Teret to go out there and explore without constraints.
The death he feared at this moment was interrupted as system chimes rang in his ear. Surveying the room with mossy green bricks, he came to a sudden realization.
"Birth...they feared being born."
"...Correct."
The world reappeared before his eyes as the sentinel raised a finger. The next question crept ever closer as a sanctified aura washed over the rubble. The environment beneath the overcasting grey had gotten redder.
"The briar of control constricts his head. Beneath his feet is a constructed glory; above his head are jaws hung agape. There is no righteousness nor rightness. What he has done was merely a flip of the coin. What was the death he feared?"
(Jaws hung agape, glory at his feet. This is...? At his feet, constructed. There are no words like this regarding the jaws. Maybe it will swallow him whole? Control, constricted, constructed.)
You have an active mind, little soul. This is good, for the Fallen Babel will forever belong to you. The hell that looms for those who shalt reign is monotonous and dry. A duty shouldered by saddled pauldrons, without the mission, all is consumed. What must thou lead before all things, lest your bearings go through continuous birth?
Another being that seemed impossible in all regards spoke to Teret. Instead of the void devoid of color, he was in one flooded with colors. Noise clattered and rumbled, psychedelic spectrums flooding over infinite kaleidoscopes.
(Lead before all things. Duty without mission is nihil. Responsibility...but over what? Maybe it's over myself? I think so...)
"The king is afraid of individuality. Being yourself is difficult, the jaws of ruin scaring you away from the wonders under your feet. Considering heaven and hell before moving, why does he not look ahead?"
"...Correct. To own up to your own whims is a constricting responsibility. The bared teeth draw the blood of consequence, slaking the thirst bade by indecision. Were the king looking inward, the jaws looming above would not warble, and the kingdom below stalwart despite the troubles behind the curtain."
The sentinel nodded once again, the area flooded by a blood-red tide. Resplendence shimmered like stars in the clouds, the mist ever drenched in the scarlet hues. What once was a thin halo was now a collection of interlinked lines, creating a surreal appearance.
"The finale. Beneath my feet is a path with an end. Beneath yours is a path stretching ever forward. There is an ebb and flow to all things, and I pity you greatly. Your eclipse will never come. What is the death that I fear?"
"...Infinity."
Teret didn't have to think much about this one at all. It was as if every question was leading to this very clandestine moment, the whole world eclipsed in unnerving red.
A hand descended from its lofty position, landing squarely on Teret's hooded skull.
"Very good. Will you accept my gift?"
"...Is there no choice?"
"Beyond that which lies outside the scope of conceivable denial, there is nothing set in stone. You may deny, but I would ask you to pity me as well. I have waited long for your austere arrival. Would you be polite to indulge me?"
"...I'll do it. You must be exhausted, mister."
The sentinel laughed as he faded away, tears dropping behind him as the halo was weaved into a web.
"Remember this, Teret. It is the polite ones that should be feared. Good luck...and never lose your eccentricities..."
Teret sat there, gazing at the web. A cacophony resounded in the rubble as it formed a sphere over the nexus of the Foeglaze Cradle.
With ginger steps, the skeleton walked past the various honeycombed structures. The lights dimmed the closer he was to the center, the mist peeling back with each footstep.
A lovely flower bloomed by the red river that thinly coated the ground. The stream diverged into two pathways, avoiding the patch of land it sprouted from.
Petals were folded over, elegantly curling in waning arcs. Spindly stamens curved upwards and faced the sky, the two parts never meeting yet eternally crossing. Encased in a subtle golden sheen, the body was coral-red. The once green stalk had lost its verdancy as the flower drank from the blood-soaked ground.
A tender yet sweet fragrance was emitted by the Red Spider Lily, the luscious petals beckoning for Teret to come closer.