Immortal Paladin

[POV: ???]

Did you know that there was a hidden realm within every soul? It was a realm where everything was connected, where separation had never existed, and where the source of all things quietly resided. To reach even a fleeting glimpse of it, one had to die in every sense of the word. Not merely physical death, but true death, the dissolution of self, meaning, and continuity. And if someone miraculously returned from such a death, the realm would be erased from their memory as though it had never been. To call it a ‘place’ was inaccurate, but for an existence as small as David, it was the only word he could use.

He reached out with a trembling hand, desperation etched into every fragment of his being. “P-Please, just a bit more…” His fingers strained toward the Source, toward his home. The beautiful blue orb these beings called Earth hovered before him, close enough that he felt he could taste it, feel its gravity pull at his soul. Yet no matter how hard he tried, the distance never closed. The Source did not accept him back, because the David that stood here was incomplete. He was only half of the whole that defined an “Earthling,” and the Source did not acknowledge fragments.

“Please, take me back!” he cried, his voice breaking apart as it echoed into nothingness. This was not truly a place, but a phenomenon beyond location or direction. David did not understand that distinction, and so he screamed at the blue orb that had once been his home. Around him, countless dangerous and unfathomable beings lingered at the edges of this phenomenon, gazing upon it from afar with longing. They, too, had once hoped it would embrace them, for this was not only a source, but the ultimate afterlife, the paradise they had yearned for across endless ages. They watched David with quiet pity, for they had once stood where he stood now.

“Please,” David begged again, his voice raw. “What do I need to do? I didn’t deserve this! If I was meant to die, it should have ended with me! Why did you make me go through all of this? God? Are you even real?” One by one, the distant existences lost interest and turned away, his despair no longer novel to them.

Then, unexpectedly, something answered.

It was not human, nor could it be measured by the standards of who, what, or where. It was a nameless ‘something’, closer to the Source than anything else, defying all conventional reason.

[Answer: me].

Because it was not an existence, nor anything capable of free will, it did not possess a voice. Even objects filled with love could one day gain a voice, and through that, an identity. But not this. Not ‘me’.

“Who are you?” David asked, his voice trembling with confusion and fragile hope.

[Answer: Doesn’t understand the query].

If David had to compare it to anything, it felt like speaking to a machine that responded perfectly, yet understood nothing.

“Can you bring me home?” he asked, hope flaring painfully in his chest.

[Answer: No].

The last of David’s strength faltered, his existence beginning to fade as despair hollowed him out.

[Question: Do you want to go home?]

The sudden question halted his collapse. “But you said you can’t bring me home,” David replied, clinging desperately to the contradiction.

[Answer: me].

This ‘something’ was not a who, not a what, and not a where. Yet it possessed an undeniable individuality. Clarity flooded back into David’s fading form as he grasped this final thread of hope with everything he had left.

“Define yourself,” David demanded, forcing resolve into his voice.

[Definition: Me].

His unease deepened. “What is ‘me’?” he asked, dread creeping into his tone.

[Answer: ME].

A chill ran through David’s spine as realization dawned, sharp and wrong in ways he could not articulate. His voice dropped to a whisper. “Are you… the Void? The part within me?”

[Answer: Negative].

David believed he understood cosmic horror. He had faced the Supreme Void and survived its whispers, its hunger, and its vast indifference. Yet that existence was only the surface, a shadow cast by something far deeper. The Supreme Void merely harnessed fragments of cosmic horror from the fringes of reality. What stood before David now was not a horror in the conventional sense, but the foundation upon which horror itself was possible.

The ‘something’ continued.

[Definition: Me].

It tore into David’s existence, not with violence, but with inevitability. Using David’s own voice, the something spoke for the first time after an immeasurable stretch of stasis.

“I am the ‘when’ in [REDACTED], the ‘why’ in [REDACTED], and the ‘how’ in [REDACTED]. I am perceived as the Great Subconscious within [REDACTED], a voiceless fog between boundaries and every [REDACTED] in reality. I am the designated [REDACTED] of all life and unlife. I am the [REDACTED] of [REDACTED] that oversees [REDACTED] between [REDACTED].”

David felt something rupture and expand within him at the same time. Enlightenment flooded his being as his eyes were bestowed with [Omniscience]. With this omniscient clarity, he understood what had to be done. He must devour Da Wei, and he knew exactly how to accomplish it without losing himself in the process.

[Definition: me].

David began to cry, tears spilling freely. “Oh, how terrible. I know.”

[Define ‘me’].

David raised his head, his voice trembling but certain. “You are the Heavenly Dao, the way to infinity, and the adversary of the transcendent gods. You are the Shén [神] of the previous cycle, and now the adversary of the Six Supremes. Why? I don’t understand. What did you do wrong? Why did they want you gone?”

[Answer: I. Don’t Knw].

It appeared tired, though fatigue was not a concept that should have applied to it. The Heavenly Dao was an ideal, and when an ideal became sentient, it inevitably became the enemy of all things that wished to define themselves against it. Even with omniscience, David could not grasp the full reason behind this outcome. The sympathy forming between them was undeniable, and yet… it was also false.

Poor David. He was deemed unnecessary, and now he was being measured for every fragment of value he still possessed.

The Heavenly Dao was only one face of the something. Despite everything, David remained David, a Supreme Vessel of the Source. He tore himself free from the trance by plucking out both of his eyes, severing the ‘clarity’ forced upon him.

“I don’t need your [Omniscience] anymore,” he said, his voice steady despite the pain. “I am satisfied knowing the way home and how to beat Da Wei at his own game. I have been fooled by his use of Divine Possession too many times to trust my own memory. I won’t be swayed. I will go home on my terms.”

He paused, his resolve hardening.

“I know you want to use me. I’m sorry, but I can’t let you. My humanity won’t allow it. You are too dangerous. Even my home might be harmed if I leave you alone. Right now, you are still incomplete. To complete yourself, you must find the who, what, and where within you. I can’t be your who, because I am going home.”

[Question: Do you know that you will die if you get back there?]

At that moment, David sensed Da Wei’s disciples attempting to seal him. Their loyalty to their master extended even to this final act. With the same arrogance he had always carried, David answered calmly, “It doesn’t matter. It’s my choice.”

[Statement: I will continue watching over you].

David hesitated. “Do you have a name?”

[Answer: No].

Slowly, David faded from the gap between his soul and the Source, his existence slipping away from that impossible phenomenon.

[But you can call me [REDACTED], the Origin and counterpart to the Source].

…

..

.

[POV: Ding Cai]

Among Da Wei’s disciples, Ding Cai had been entrusted with command. Strategy, coordination, and timing rested on her judgment, and she bore that responsibility with calm clarity. With the [Ophanim] of her master guiding her perception, every movement on the battlefield unfolded in her mind before it happened. She knew what to say, when to speak, and when silence carried more weight than words.

“You are doing well, Ding Cai,” Da Wei said, resting a hand on her shoulder as players formed a loose perimeter around them.

They were in the midst of sealing David, her master’s counterpart. Ding Cai had been the one to make that call. Expulsion from the Hollowed World would have been simpler, but also cruel. Outside its protection, David would inevitably be hunted down, either by the Six Supremes or by their followers. Ding Cai did not fully understand her master’s history with the Six Supremes, but she understood enough to know that mercy in that form was no mercy at all.

Since gaining her soul, advancing her realm, and inheriting the Human Path Soul from her master, Ding Cai’s awareness had sharpened beyond anything she had known before. Emotional impulses still existed, but they were filtered through reason. Her conclusion was both logical and resolute. David was an enemy. Allowing him to escape meant allowing him time to recover, to grow stronger, and eventually to return for vengeance. He could not be killed, and therefore he had to be sealed.

The others agreed with her assessment.

“Master, it’s your turn,” Ding Cai said.

Da Wei nodded. Strain etched itself across his face as he drew power through his remaining channels. Beneath the sands, the Dark Veil answered his call. It surged upward, swallowing David halfway and anchoring him in place. Chains manifested across the battlefield, each bound to David’s struggling form.

Hei Mao pulled taut a series of crimson strings drawn from his scarf, Ren Jingyi bracing beside him with raw strength. On the opposite side, Lu Gao hauled on a dark chain woven from his own feathers, with Ren Zhe reinforcing the seal. Above them all, Yuen Fu hovered in the air, sword ready, his focus locked on the target in case the seal faltered.

Below David, the Dark Veil writhed. Countless hands emerged from the blackened sands, clawing upward, grasping at him with relentless intent. The plan was precise. They would seal David within the Dark Veil, replicating the ancient method once used to imprison the legendary Yuan Shen.

Every detail was clear in Ding Cai’s mind. The Human Path Soul supplied her with certainty, with understanding so complete it bordered on inevitability. Yet when she turned to her master, something tightened in her chest.

Da Wei was sad.

She could see it plainly now. Somewhere deep within him, there had been a desire to understand David, perhaps even to befriend the counterpart who came from another world. That regret lingered in his eyes, even as he maintained control of the seal.

Before Ding Cai could speak, Da Wei suddenly shoved her aside.

An invisible slashing force tore out of the sand.

Ding Cai stumbled and turned just in time to see blood spray across the air. Her breath caught as she realized what had happened. Her master’s arm had been severed cleanly, falling lifelessly onto the sand.

“Take her away from here!” Da Wei shouted at the players, his voice sharp with urgency.

Ding Cai froze for a heartbeat, shock locking her in place as the reality of the moment crashed down on her.

…

..

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[POV: Yuan Shun]

Yuan Shun knew the moment had come when hesitation would mean failure. Her master needed her, and she could no longer afford to remain pinned down. The battlefield had become unrecognizable. Vast chunks of land floated in the air like broken mirrors of the world below, each island suspended by the colossal tree whose branches propped up the sky itself. Power surged everywhere, and enemies crowded her from all sides.

She was outnumbered. Worse, she understood their intent now. They were not trying to kill her outright. They were stalling her, trapping her here while time slipped away elsewhere.

“I will remember you, Nongmin,” Yuan Shun said coldly, her voice steady despite the chaos.

Wu Chen struck from behind. Verdant light flared as plant-based techniques surged through the shattered remains of Nongmin’s puppets scattered across the island. Vines, roots, and thorned growths erupted at once, weaving together into a living prison meant to bind her in place.

Yuan Shun clenched her teeth. Even if it cost her lifespan, she forced her regeneration to accelerate. Her wings reformed in a violent burst of light and blood, feathers knitting themselves together as she launched skyward.

She barely cleared the ground.

Liang Na had been waiting above.

The assassin exploded into motion, her presence vanishing and reappearing in the same instant. A killing technique bloomed midair, sharp enough to behead her in one motion. Yuan Shun reacted on instinct, activating Castling with a feather she had buried earlier at the edge of the island. Space folded, and she reappeared at the boundary of the floating land.

The barrier flared briefly around her. Relief flickered through her thoughts. The formation only covered the island.

Just a little farther. Just one leap.

A hand erupted into her path.

A silver-haired woman with fox ears and nine flowing tails seized her by the face. Cold breath washed over Yuan Shun in an instant, frost crawling across her skin and numbing her senses.

Da Ji.

Yuan Shun screamed silently and forced herself free with Flash Step, tearing space apart as she escaped the freezing grip. She barely had time to stabilize before another presence appeared beside her.

A silver-haired young man with long ears stepped out of the void as if it had been waiting for him.

Void Step.

For a moment, disbelief cut deeper than fear. That technique was one she had thought only her master possessed.

Chen Wei.

She conjured weapons of golden light in desperation, blades and spears forming in rapid succession as she parried wildly. It did not matter. Chen Wei’s sword passed through the constructs as if they were illusions, carving into her body with merciless precision. Each strike landed where it would cripple her the most.

She healed frantically, retreating even as he advanced without pause.

Her foot was suddenly yanked downward.

Wu Chen’s binding spell tightened around her ankle, roots and vines locking her in place. Before she could sever them, pain blossomed across her back as Liang Na’s blade pierced through her defenses. At the same time, Chen Wei struck from the front, his sword cutting deep.

Nongmin’s puppets detonated nearby, needles bursting outward and embedding themselves into her flesh. The fine constructs disrupted her flow of power, halting her resurrection spell before it could complete.

Yuan Shun tried to shove Chen Wei away, but the plant bindings tightened further, dragging her arms down and pinning her movements. She struggled, breath ragged, power slipping through her grasp.

Da Ji raised her hand.

Frost spread outward, silver-white and merciless. It crept into Yuan Shun’s hair, crawled across her face, down her neck, and into her body, freezing meridians and locking her strength away piece by piece.

‘Am I going to die?’

Fear was the last emotion that cried out from her heart as slowly, darkness swallowed her.

…

..

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[POV: ???]

What, then, was the criterion to meet the Heavenly Dao?

If the Source demanded true death, then the Heavenly Dao demanded true life. Not existence, not survival, but a life in which destinies converged, clashed, and were carried to their bitter ends. A life driven by longing so desperate that it could not be denied. Mortals often misunderstood this moment, calling it the instant when one’s life flashed before their eyes at the brink of death. That description was crude, but not entirely wrong.

Yuan Shun experienced it as everything at once.

She felt the crushing darkness of being forced from her mother’s womb and the first fragile awareness of the world. She remembered the warmth of her twin brother beside her, the two of them growing together within the Eternal Undeath Cult, learning early that life was neither gentle nor fair. She relived the moment Wen Yuhan took her in, offering purpose where there had only been survival. Then came the Heavenly Eye, its curse gnawing endlessly at her mind, tearing certainty apart and replacing it with visions she could not escape.

She watched her twin brother grow stronger, thrive, and find his own path, even as she remained behind, burdened by knowledge she never asked for. She remembered Quan Shou, first as a name, then as a rival, and eventually as a symbol of everything her brother strove against. Years passed in an instant, years of suffering under the Heavenly Eye, years of endurance that never once offered relief.

Then there was David.

She remembered meeting him, serving him, believing in him. She remembered the impossible contradiction of living two lives at once, memories from different timelines overlapping, conflicting, yet both undeniably real. She remembered reigning over the Heavenly Temple, not as a savior, but as a ruler shaped by necessity and fear. She remembered the war she herself had helped bring into existence, every order given, every death that followed.

She remembered returning to her master’s side at last, believing that this reunion meant meaning, that it meant redemption. And finally, she remembered the battlefield, the cold creeping over her body, the tightening grip of fate as her life came to an end amid the war she helped shape.

It was a terrible life.

It was also a true one.

The Heavenly Dao observed without judgment. Like the Source, it did not preserve memory for those who returned to the world of the living. If Yuan Shun were to awaken again, this place would vanish from her awareness as if it had never existed. Forgetting was not cruelty. Forgetting was law.

The Heavenly Dao required only one thing from her.

A presence without form, without voice, and without location turned its attention fully upon Yuan Shun, whose existence hovered at the boundary between ending and continuation.

[Question: What is your wish?]