I am looking down at my own corpse when I awaken. I do

  not have arms or legs or a body in general. The world around me is

  colored in photonegative, in contrasting black and white. No, that is

  not all there is here. Surrounding me are so many tiny lights. Billions

  of beating hearts linked by shimmering green strings, connecting

  everything from the blades of grass to the bacteria nestled within my

  carcass to the worms burying in the earth.

  I

  wonder what would happen if I reached out and grabbed those lights. If I

  plucked the strings of consciousness, what kind of sound would it make?

  Yet

  I have no hands to hold nor ears to hear. Is this my fate? To wander

  the world as a spirit without a vessel, capable of seeing all things but

  incapable of changing anything?

  Do you really think I brought you back just for you to be incapable of doing anything with your second chance?NO!!!

  I

  want to live. I want to feel the touch of another on my skin and to

  hold blade and ploughshare in equal measure. I want someone to tell me

  that I did good, that I mattered and should be proud. I want to love and

  I… And I want… I want….

  Oh please, we can do all that later. Just tell me what your heart's desire is. Tell me what you want currently and be truthful.

  I look down on my desiccated corpse, taking in the sight of vines entering my caved in chest.

  I… I WANT TO KILL THE BASTARDS WHO DID THIS TO ME!

  A

  deep chill sets in as crystals, utterly flawless and possessing

  negative entropy, bloom over my corpse. I fashion this vessel of war

  into a humanoid androgynous form possessing no characteristics other

  than monomolecular claws on its hands and a cyclopean eye colored in

  pulsating blues and purples encompassing its face.

  I

  hear a hissing noise nearby. A mindless Rakshasa dreg, eyeless face

  twisted into a snarl and fanged mouth dripping with drool. Disgusting

  wretch without identity, nameless among quadrillions like it. Driven to

  battle in the vain hope that one day it will reach the Sky and mingle

  among the gods themselves.

  My

  vision goes blurry. I desire to kill it and my desire shapes reality.

  When my vision clears I am standing over its flayed corpse, flesh

  separated from bone by monomolecular claws. H-How did I get her? I am

  surrounded by its brethren, still unaware that I am here. How fast did I

  kill it? I did not feel any movement, I desired to be there and so I

  was.

  The

  dregs rush at me as a horde, starting in the dozens and becoming

  hundreds. Their lives are worthless, a single dreg cannot hope to

  accomplish anything but pester and annoy but their strength is as a

  legion. Dust spirals around me as a fast tempo and loud clashing

  harmonies ring within my mind, a song so beautiful and violent playing

  within my head as the dust become undulating planes that take on sacred

  shapes as the waves flow through them.

  Cymatics. Stray particles conforming to the points of stillness between the areas of low vibrations, just as Mahmud told me.

  I

  raise my fist and gather dust around it in a swirling vortex while

  ordering dust into wings like those of a butterfly arranged within a

  colorful golden ratio. Mahmud was an angel of war so I must be one as

  well. The world goes silent as the dregs come closer, snarls and howls

  rendered mute as all sound is suppressed.

  Then

  I slam my fists into the ground and the world screams. A great screech

  rends the world apart, dust coalescing into a pulsating three

  dimensional fractal pattern as the dregs closest to me are rendered to

  dust and echoes, the searing intensity rending molecule from molecule

  and atom from atom. The lucky ones merely have limb separated from limb

  and bones rendered to powder as they are launched into the sky.

  I

  summon a jagged spear of perfect crystals, a bitter chill running

  through my hand as it coalesces into monomolecular sharpness and I flap

  my wings, the waves emitted further juggling them in mid-air as I carve

  through the dregs, flesh and bone sliced into tiny chunks as my blade

  tears through them, blood falling on the wet sod as rain. The ground

  grows sticky with green gore yet not a single drop lands on me, I do not

  want anything to stain this form and so nothing does.

  How

  boring, this is a war of wheat against the scythe. I demand something

  that actually fights back. I demand something to test this form.

  The

  world is stained green with Rakshasa blood by the time I drop to the

  ground. Tiny chunks of viscera are still falling to the ground while I

  twirl my spear. If I had a mouth then I am sure there would be a

  satisfied grin on it.

  In

  the distance are bright clusters of shimmering red and purple streaks

  staining the green spiders web of the world, the emotions of despair

  and rage suffocating as souls rejoin the web of life, flickering lights

  growing a luminous red before fading to nothingness.

  That's where all the fighting. That's my destination.

  My

  butterfly wings flap and I cease being a material object. I am a

  Soliton following the bursts of emotion, a self-propagating wave-form

  navigating detonations of rage and sadness at the speed of thought,

  amplified by the intensity of the heat of battle. I exit my pocket of

  intangibility and strike as a wraith, casting a wide blast of minor

  tonality, depressing and slowing the advance of every creature on this

  battlefield, before letting my spear sing.

  My

  after-images strike with their own will, echoes of my being possessing a

  vestige of my will, letting me be in a hundred places at once. They are

  my shadows, echoes of my true being, yet they are also me. I—We—set our

  eyes on our target, a pair of colossal Rakshasa Ogres, towering at 15

  meters while hunched on all fours. Their flower heads unfold petal by

  petal to unleash great beams of ethereal power, searing through

  everything and rendering metal to slag and flesh to ash.

  They will be our targets.

  Two

  of my echoes strike at the closer ones heels as I once again suppress

  all sound into a vortex of swirling dust gathering around my fist. My

  wings take me to further heights before I descend, slamming my fist into

  its flower petal head in a burst of ear-rupturing intensity. It's

  decapitated corpse slums over and I choose to switch tools on the second

  one.

  Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.

  I

  understand what this power is. It is power over the battles and waves,

  mastery of universal resonance that lets one master the universal choir.

  This other power, the power of stillness and solidity, however…. It's

  power over perfect crystals, flawless nuggets of negative entropy free

  of defect or imperfection, just like Mahmud talked about.

  (My

  mind flickers to him and the tempo of the song slows down while the

  tonality becomes Minor. I promise that I will remember you and carry on

  your will, Mahmud Ufair Ghazani, you who died a hero's death.)

  I

  banish the sensation from my mind, the song resuming its fast tempo and

  Major tonality as I manifest a barrage of crystalline shards and launch

  them with a flicker of intent. The shards flense flesh from bone and

  turn bone to dust, forcing the Ogre to its knees before I grab it with

  my will and squeeze. All heat exits as entropy is sloughed off,

  thermal mass removed as entropy is irreversibly lost. The Ogre becomes a

  crystal statue in a matter of seconds and part of me wants to preserve

  it as a trophy, an emblem of my might.

  Then

  the crystal statue shatters as I emanate a hum of infrasonic intensity

  through it, rendering it to dust. I look around and gaze upon my

  handiwork. This battlefield has become a graveyard of friend and foe

  alike, rivers of blood stain the once fertile soil and the smell of

  burnt flesh and iron is fecund.

  Yet

  even here there is life. Something grows from the graveyard, not the

  flora of the Light but a dark purple fungus growing upon the dead and

  burying roots deep within the earth. I wince slightly as a flurry of

  noises enter my ears, a cacophony of indistinct voices without identity.

  MOMMYMOMMYMOMMYMOMMYMOMMYIDONTWANTTODIEIDONTWANTTODIEIDONTWANTTODIEGLORYTOCLANANDKINGLORYTOCLANANDKINGLORYTOCLANANDKINSOHOTSOHOTSOHOTSOHOTSOHOTSOHOT

  UGH!

  SHUT UP! I banish the voices, silencing them with my will, and turn to

  look at the distance. There's a powerful presence in the distance,

  hideous with Vanilla and drunk on hope. It dances in battle against a

  second presence, a brave and kind presence yet one brimming with fear,

  one I know.

  ARGETLAM.

  My

  vision goes blank and I feel the press of dirt under my feet. I am

  standing in the barren area of a forest and in front of me is HIMHIMHIMHIMHIM. The

  golden spider looks at me apprehensively for a second while a second

  one, a towering knight clad in chitinous armor with a blade wreathed in

  the poison of the enemy, charges at me. I know both of these Rakshasa.

  (I vowed to carry on your will, Mahmud. Let this be your Requiem with me as your instrument. Let justice be done.)

  And at last a voice is given to our choir. Eight speak with the will of one and the song signals our vengeance.

  Hear

  us, sky-bound dead things. We carry the will of Mahmud Ufair Ghazani. H

  I S W I L L L I V E S T H R O U G H U S. HOW MANY LIVES DO YOU HAVE IN

  STOCK, SCION OF THE SKY-KING? no matter how many you have. I t w o n t c

  h a n g e a n y t h i n g.

  Our

  declaration is issued with unfathomable authority and cold rage. It

  tears molecule from molecule and atom from atom. Reality screams at this

  expression of our emotions, of our will, of our strength.

  We

  move like a puppet on strings, every movement effortless as we slap

  aside Kor Halaks blade and forge a sword of perfect crystals, blade

  fractal at the edges, before amputating the Lightblades legs with a pair

  of elegant slashes and decapitating him with such ease that we do not

  feel anything. I turn to the other, despicable wretch of many limbs and

  imbecile wit and slam my fist into his chest with such strength that we

  puncture metal, burying our fist into his inside before unleashing a

  burst of ear-rupturing noise, melting his insides and staining my fists

  with viscera.

  There

  is a third noble here, a slender figure made of bone-white wood with a

  skirt of roses and a vermilion flower petal face, and the song gains a

  screeching intensity as my ears roar with a terrible thunder. A name

  flickers through my mind as I charge with fury and with fervor. Anu El, daughter of the intricate brood. That is my enemy. That is who I must kill.

  The

  Lifesinger enunciates a low note belonging to a song descendent from

  mine, in the way a wheel is descended from the essence of 'round'. This

  song is MINE. THIS SONG IS PROPERTY OF THE MOST HOLY ARCHITECT. My

  vision blackens for a moment and an atom-rending intensity emanates.

  What if I am hurting Argetlam? No I mustn't doubt. This power is fueled

  by my emotions but I must exhibit mastery of myself.

  My

  thoughts are broken as Kor Halak, body still piercing itself back

  together, thunders and smashes his sword into my side hard enough for

  the crystals to crack slightly. I desperately charge back, swords

  clashing as I dance around him with my smaller figure and greater

  mobility, ordering dust into sharp cymatic shapes to pierce through him.

  His

  immortality is bolstered by the lifesong, chitins becoming diamond hard

  under the songs ministrations. I can suppress the sound and unleash it

  as a burst but that's a limited measure.

  My

  power is mastery over the battles and the waves. Waveforms can either

  be in phase or out of phase; it is a relative measure, the degree of

  offset from a given point. So, when two waves interact, their troughs

  and crests can align, thereby increasing their shared amplitude,

  constructive interference, or directly contrast and cancel each other

  out, destructive interference. I wonder what would happen if I….

  I

  become out of phase with reality, my frequency becoming disconnected

  from the world as I become a phantom. I maneuver as a wave behind Kor

  Halak and phase back with my fist in his chest. Now let's see what

  happens when the waves cancel each other out. Atomic bonds are weakened

  and organs crumble to dust under the destructive interference. Kor Halak

  falls to the ground and I resonate with the Lifesongs frequency, waves

  crashing against each other and negating each other.

  Good thing I have other tools for my work.

  Anu

  El blazes with plasmic light, shaping plasma into a sword glimmering

  with light and charging in a reckless thrust. If I had a mouth then it

  would be twisted into a grin. My exterior provides perfect insulation

  from the blistering heat coming off of her, air precipitating as my cold

  and her heat clash.

  And my coldness emerges victorious.

  The

  crystal marks on her skin, areas where atoms are frozen perfectly in

  place without entropy or imperfection, expand as we clash. Her movements

  grow sluggish and sloppy as we dance, her body crystalizing further and

  further, until I lay a flat palm on her chest and squeeze.

  All

  noise is silenced, the only sound coming through is the creaking of

  growing crystals, the sickening crunch as her bones shatter under the

  intense cold. I pull back my fist and infuse all the suppressed sound

  into it when she is fully a frozen sculpture.

  Then I slam it into her in a colossal roar.

  All that is left of her is powdered crystals. She won't return from this.

  I

  forge the dust in the air into a cymatic sword of vibrating dust

  burning amber red before turning back to look at the two remaining

  Rakshasa. They exchange glances before the spider charges at me, blades

  blazing with electricity as his eight legs stampede forward.

  I

  want to make this one's death special. He was the one who killed

  Mahmud. He was the one who terrorized me and tried to turn me into one

  of those amnesiac dead things, he deserves this. The trick I pulled on

  Anu El has lost its novelty.

  I

  wonder how deep my powers reach. Where do I go when I shift out of

  phase? What's the deepest I can set my resonance to? Sage Schrodinger

  believes that matter exhibits a duality as both wave and particles,

  furthermore there exists mathematical abstractions, wave functions, that

  describe the possible states and position of a particle. Do those

  qualify?

  Well, there's only one way to find out.

  I

  shape my curiosity into a drill and resonate with the lowest frequency I

  can think of. I hum lowly to the wave functions, commanding them to

  collapse into a new shape, and they give way to my will. The spider

  starts screaming desperately as its very existential foundation is

  attacked, the metaphysical description that makes it who it is scrambled

  under a low infrasonic hum. Its body pixelates and its screams become

  white noise as its flesh takes on cymatic abstract shapes.

  I

  once again suppress all the noise in the room and channel it into my

  fist, approaching slowly and resonating with the wave functions.

  Then I slam my fist into its chest and the world screams.

  I

  feel nothing as I watch it fade to dust. I feel parched, my mind

  drained and worned out from the intense emotions I have experienced. Kor

  Halak is nowhere to be found. Coward ran. The emotional crescendo of

  the song gives way to a smooth consistent rhythm and slow tempo as I

  struggle to even keep myself standing.

  I

  look around and see four figures on the ground, all at death's door.

  One is albino and wearing a priests cassock, one is in ornate jade green

  armor and wielding a power I can't help but recognize, something I can

  tell is drawn from the same source as my own. Hidden behind a rock is a

  cybernetic gunmetal grey figure missing an arm and finally there is an

  astral knight clad in white armor and with a large hole in his chest.

  Friends. They are friends. And I can't help but feel pulled towards the one in white armor, he reminds me of someone.

  I

  shift towards the astral knight and reach out a clawed hand to take

  off his helmet. Smooth brown skin, hair arranged in a mullet and

  dashing face with brilliant green eyes greet me. I pull back suddenly,

  movements jerky as I feel the sudden rush of happiness fill me. Ah! Lord

  Argetlam! He looks so serene like this, eyes closed and mouth in a

  slight smirk. I can hear the rhythm of his heart beating slowly.

  The

  song shifts into a major tonality and excited tempo that manifests as a

  healing blue light. Muscles knit themselves back together, bones

  piecing themselves in place and organs regrowing as he coughs

  desperately, eyes straining awake. I do not wish for him to see such a…

  frightening visage in me. I let go of all control, my vision turning

  back to normal as crystals retreats to reveal pale flesh and bone, my

  blue eyes hazy as I strain to keep awake.

  I

  collapse onto his chest, taking in the strong muscles of his chest

  under his bodysuit, his warmth, a flush enters my cheeks as I relax.

  My

  hearing is hazy as my vision turns black, the noise of hacking coughs

  and distant voices blurry in my mind. Then one clear voice echoes in my

  mind, an eloquent one brimming with admiration.

  Majestic.

  Simply majestic. You have proven yourself more worthy of existence than

  so many others on this battlefield. Relax, shrug your weary shoulders

  and be at peace. The battle is over after all.The

  time of action is over after all, now you can ask me all that you want

  and I will explain myself in the best terms available.So what do you want to know.Wh-Who am I? What am I? And who are you? What are you? That is all I wish to know.

  Very well then, ask and you shall receive.Allow

  me to show you the great answer to existence, the reason why anything

  exists at all. The truth that lies before the first point of space and

  first tick of time. Follow closely and hang on every word.Let me tell you of a Garden and two friends playing a game of possibility.