Myriad Heavens: Rise of the Rune God

Chapter 343: Chapter 344: The Attention of Old Ones

The three of them continued moving through the Omniverse.

After the first welcome and the early explanations, Runar decided they needed more direct information. Watching Multiverses from a distance was useful, but it was not enough. They needed to see how Omniversal beings actually lived and spoke when they were among their own kind.

A large structure floated ahead in the void.

”There’s a bar,” she said, pointing.

Celestia looked where she was pointing. Runar looked too.

Floating in the void between Multiverses, suspended in the higher reality substance that permeated everything, was a structure that could only be described as enormous. It was not a building in the way they normally understood buildings. It was more like a concept of a building given physical form — walls that shifted between wood and stone and something that had no name, windows that looked out into different Multiverses depending on which angle you viewed them from, and a door that seemed to be open for anyone who wanted to walk through it.

Above the entrance, a sign hung in letters that glowed with soft, steady light. The language was Omniversal, which meant it translated itself directly into understanding.

Thorium Omniversals Bar.

Nyla looked at Runar. ”Can we go in?”

Runar considered the question. They needed information. They needed to understand how Omniversal beings interacted, what their culture looked like, and what the unwritten rules of this place were. A gathering place where many of them congregated would be useful for observation.

”Yes,” he said. ”But we are here to listen, not to participate.”

Nyla grinned. ”I can listen.”

Celestia gave her a look that clearly said she doubted that.

They entered.

---

The inside of the bar was larger than the outside suggested, which was apparently a common feature of Omniversal architecture. The space stretched in directions that did not exist in lower reality, creating a room that could comfortably hold hundreds of beings without ever feeling crowded. Tables floated at various heights. Some Omniversals sat in chairs that seemed to be made of condensed starlight. Others lounged on platforms that drifted slowly through the air. A few simply hovered, their forms shifting between shapes as they talked.

The noise was not loud, but it was constant. Conversations overlapped in dozens of directions, carried in voices that ranged from deep and resonant to light and musical. The higher reality substance here was thinner than outside, shaped into something closer to atmosphere, making it easier to breathe and speak.

Runar’s eyes swept the room once, cataloging everything. Celestia’s storm lattice spread outward in a thin, careful layer, mapping the space without intruding on anyone’s personal area. Nyla’s curiosity engine was already spinning, processing the sheer variety of beings around them.

They found a quiet table near the edge of the room and sat down.

Almost immediately, a being approached them. It appeared as a shifting cloud of warm colors, roughly humanoid in shape but constantly changing. It carried three plates and set them down on the table without being asked.

”Welcome,” the being said, its voice carrying the pleasant warmth of someone who genuinely enjoyed feeding people. ”First time?”

”Yes,” Runar said.

”Then the food is on me. It’s always on me, actually. I cooked it, so it’s mine to give.” The cloud-being smiled, or at least shifted in a way that suggested a smile. ”I am Orath. I ascended on the Principle of Food. Everything I cook carries a fragment of that principle, so it nourishes more than just the body. Eat. Enjoy. Ask questions if you like, but I’ll be busy in the kitchen.”

Orath drifted away before any of them could respond.

Nyla looked down at the plate in front of her. The food on it was unlike anything she had ever seen. It shifted colors slowly, as though it were alive, and it smelled like something between a memory of home and a promise of somewhere better. She picked up a piece and ate it.

Her eyes widened.

”This is ridiculous,” she said, mouth full. ”This is the best thing I have ever eaten. In any universe.”

Celestia took a more measured bite. Her expression softened. ”It is very good.”

Runar ate as well. The food carried a warmth that went beyond taste. It settled into his vessel like a gentle confirmation, as though the Principle of Food itself was saying, You are here. You are real. You are welcome.

Interesting, he thought. An Omniversal being who chose to ascend through cooking. Not through power. Not through comprehension. Through the act of making something that nourishes others.

That is really facinanting.

He filed that away and turned his attention to the room.

They were here to listen.

---

At a nearby table, a group of four Omniversals sat in relaxed conversation. Their forms varied — one was a tall, thin figure made of silver light, another was a dense sphere of dark energy with two bright eyes, the third was a shifting mass of geometric shapes, and the fourth was something that looked almost human but kept flickering between genders and ages.

They were talking about Multiverses.

”I’m telling you, the third era was the best part,” the silver-light being said, its tone carrying the easy enthusiasm of someone discussing a favorite story. ”The protagonist had just discovered the hidden cultivation system, and the rival faction was about to make their move. Perfect pacing.”

The geometric shape-being made a sound that might have been a scoff. ”The third era dragged. Too much setup. The fourth era was where things actually got interesting. The betrayal arc alone was worth watching.”

”You both missed the point,” the dark sphere said, its two eyes blinking slowly. ”The real value was the collapse at the end of the second era. The way the entire civilization fell apart because one character made a single bad decision. That was beautiful. Clean. Efficient.”

Celestia’s storm lattice pulsed once, sharply. She controlled it immediately, but Runar noticed.

The flickering human-shaped being leaned forward. ”Did any of you catch the new one? The protagonist that Veth dropped into the cultivation world last cycle? I want to see how long it lasts before the local system rejects it.”

”I give it three cycles,” the silver-light being said. ”Maybe four if the writing is good.”

”I give it one,” the geometric shape-being countered. ”Veth never sets things up properly. Just drops them in and hopes for drama.”

They laughed. All four of them laughed, as though this were the most natural conversation in the world.

Runar listened without reacting. His face remained calm. His golden-white eyes tracked the conversation with the same steady attention he applied to everything.

They are not evil, he thought. They do not hate the beings inside those Multiverses. They simply do not think about them as real in the same way they think about themselves. The scale creates the distance. The distance creates the detachment.

He did not agree with it. He did not share their casual cruelty. But he did not preach. There was nothing he could do right now, and speaking without understanding the full culture would only draw unwanted attention. They were here to gather information, not to make enemies on their first day.

Celestia’s hands rested quietly on the table, but her fingers were slightly tighter than usual.

”They talk about them like they’re characters in a game,” she said softly, her voice carrying only to Runar and Nyla.

Nyla had stopped eating. She was watching the group with an expression that mixed fascination and discomfort. ”It’s not that they don’t care,” she said slowly. ”It’s that caring doesn’t register at this scale. To them, a civilization inside a Multiverse is the same as a sentence in a book. You don’t mourn a sentence.”

Celestia looked at her. ”But you can choose to care anyway.”

”Yes,” Nyla agreed. ”You can.”

Runar took another bite of Orath’s food and said nothing. But he remembered the conversation. He remembered the tone. He remembered the laughter. And he noted, quietly, that this was the culture he had stepped into.

He would not adopt it. But he would understand it.

---

Suddenly the conversation in the bar suddenly shifted. As a dark sphere-being’s rushed in. ”Did you guys hear?”

Most people paused and turned their heads to him and said. ”Hear what?”

The dark sphere immediately responded. ”A report. A Verse Eater has been detected near the Kethral cluster.”

The whole bar went quiet.

A silver-light being’s easy posture straightened. A geometric shape-being stopped shifting. A flickering human form froze mid-transition.

”Kethral?” the silver-light being repeated. ”That cluster has six billion active Multiverses. Three miliion of them are in their peak era.”

”I know,” the dark sphere said. ”The report just came through. The Eater is moving toward them slowly. It hasn’t reached them yet, but the trajectory is clear.”

The mood at the bar had changed completely. The casual entertainment discussion was gone. What replaced it was something harder. Something that carried weight.

Celestia noticed the shift immediately. Her storm lattice tightened around her, not in fear, but in alertness.

The tone changed, she thought. They were laughing about civilizations a moment ago. Now they are serious. Whatever a Verse Eater is, it matters to them.

Nyla leaned closer to Runar. ”I never expected to hear about Verse Eaters so soon. And from the looks on everyone here, they dont seem happy.”

”Yh, I guess verse eater are truly our only rivals.” Runar said quietly. ”I still can’t imagine consuming Six billion of them, according to that being. Active. Generating new knowledge.”

Nyla said, connecting the dots. ”So if it reaches that cluster—”

”Six billion sources of new information gone permanently,” Runar finished.

At the nearby table, the geometric shape-being was already rising. ”I’m going. If we move now, we can intercept it before it reaches the first Multiverse.”

The silver-light being stood as well. ”I’ll come. I have a technique that can slow its movement.”

The flickering human form nodded. ”I’ll join. I’ve studied Eater behavior patterns. I can predict its next turn.”

The dark sphere floated upward. ”Then we go now. The longer we wait, the closer it gets.”

Runar watched them prepare to leave. Absolute Comprehension stirred inside him, processing the information they had overheard. Verse Eater. Kethral cluster. Six billion Multiverses at risk. The reaction of the Omniversals around them.

This is the threat Aelome mentioned, he thought. The only thing that can still matter to beings at this level. Not territory. Not power. Not hierarchy. The loss of knowledge itself.

He began analyzing the information immediately. What did a Verse Eater look like? How did it consume a Multiverse? What were its weaknesses? What were its patterns? Absolute Comprehension flagged the Verse Eaters as one of the few phenomena in the Omniverse that might still contain meaningful mystery. Everything else here had been mapped or was in the process of being mapped. But Verse Eaters were poorly understood, even by beings who had existed for eons.

Interesting, Runar thought. And potentially important.

But before the group of Omniversals could leave, another report came in.

The dark sphere paused. Its eyes flickered. ”Wait.”

The silver-light being stopped. ”What?”

”Another report. The Eater has been dealt with.”

Silence fell over the table.

”Dealt with?” the geometric shape-being repeated. ”By whom?”

”An older one. Vreth. Apparently he was already in the region and handled it before it reached the first Multiverse.”

The four Omniversals stood in silence for a moment. Then the geometric shape-being let out a long, irritated sound.

”I was hoping to get some of the meat.”

The silver-light being sighed. ”Every time. Every single time. Someone else gets there first.”

The flickering human form crossed its arms. ”Vreth always hoards the meat. He never shares.”

The dark sphere settled back down slowly. ”Verse Eater meat is the best thing you can eat in the Omniverse. And it’s not just flavor. Every Multiverse it consumed, every piece of knowledge from every verse it ate — it’s all in the meat. One bite and you can taste entire civilizations.”

Nyla, who had been listening with increasing intensity, turned to Runar. ”They eat the things that destroy Multiverses?”

”It seems so,” Runar said.

”And the meat contains the knowledge from all the Multiverses it ate?”

”That is what they said.”

Nyla looked back at the table. ”That is simultaneously the most horrifying and the most practical thing I have ever heard.”

Celestia’s expression was complicated. ”They mourn the Multiverses when they’re threatened. They take the threat seriously. But they also treat the Eater itself as a food source.”

”It is both,” Runar said. ”The threat is real. The loss is real. And the value of the Eater’s remains is also real. These things are not contradictory at this level.”

At the nearby table, the four Omniversals had settled back into their seats. The tension had faded, replaced by a low-level grumbling about Vreth’s hoarding habits and the unfairness of always being too late.

”I’m going to find a Verse Eater of my own one day,” the geometric shape-being muttered. ”And I’m going to eat the whole thing.”

The silver-light being snorted. ”You can barely handle a Omniversal-level meal. What makes you think you can stomach an Eater?”

”I have ambition.”

The table laughed again. But the laughter was different now. Lighter. Relieved. The threat had passed, and the world had returned to normal.

Runar stored the information and returned to his meal.

---

After the bar, the three of them drifted back into the open space of the Omniverse. The higher reality substance surrounded them, dense and constant. Below them, the Multiverses continued their endless stories. Above them, the older Omniversals continued their endless watching.

Celestia broke the silence first.

”I think I understand what my role is here,” she said.

Runar and Nyla both looked at her.

Celestia’s storm lattice spread outward slightly, not as a weapon or a defense, but as a framework. It touched the edges of the higher reality around them and organized the flow of information, creating structure where there had been chaos.

”At the bar, I felt overwhelmed,” she admitted. ”Not by danger. By volume. Too much information, too many voices, too many Multiverses all existing at once. My lattice wanted to impose order on it.” She paused. ”I think that is what I should do here. Not fight. Not conquer. Stabilize. Create frameworks that let us process Omniversal-scale information without drowning in it.”

Nyla nodded slowly. ”That makes sense. You’re the structure.”

Celestia looked at her. ”And you?”

Nyla grinned. It was the kind of grin that meant she had already been thinking about it for a while.

”I want to interact,” she said. ”Not the way those beings at the bar do. Not dropping protagonists into worlds for fun. But... observing. Engaging. Finding ways to touch the stories without breaking them. My curiosity engine is built for that. It adapts. It finds new angles. I think I can learn to interact with Multiversal stories in ways that don’t require full intervention.”

She looked at Runar. ”Does that make sense?”

Runar considered the question. ”It does. Observation without interference. Engagement without disruption. A middle path between the passive watchers and the active interferers.”

Nyla’s grin widened. ”Exactly.”

Celestia looked between them. ”And you?”

Runar was quiet for a moment. His golden-white eyes gazed out over the Omniverse, reading the endless layers of information that surrounded them. Absolute Comprehension worked steadily in the background, mapping, categorizing, integrating. Origin Weave hummed at his core, ready to shape whatever he understood into something new.

”I will continue reading,” he said simply. ”The Omniverse has its own grammar. Its own rules. Its own mysteries. Verse Eaters are one of them. There will be others. My role is to understand them.”

He looked at both of them. ”And to support you while you find yours.”

Celestia smiled. Nyla bumped his shoulder lightly with hers.

They drifted together through the higher sea, three beings who had once been small in a single Multiverse and were now learning to exist in a space that contained infinite Multiverses. The scale was overwhelming. The culture was strange. The threats were real.

But they were not alone.

And that, Runar thought, was enough to begin.

The three of them continued forward, each carrying their own path, each finding their own footing, each choosing what kind of existence they wanted to build in the Omniverse.

The higher sea was vast.

But they were learning to swim.