Nexus Awakened (An Isekai LitRPG Gender Bender Story)-Chapter 1139. The End of the Ninth Act (Act Epilogue Pt. 1)

The Long Balcony.

Located in the heart of Act X’s Nest, directly beneath Marionette’s roost, were the hallowed grounds where Mothlinen larvae: the Glowworms: thrived. It was a cylindrical-shaped chimney that spanned three kilometers from one side to the other.

This place was called the Loom.

If one looked up, they would find nothing but smooth, azure walls climbing as far as the eye could see. Down, they would be greeted by a bottomless abyss. Colossal spires wrapped in cloth rose like needles into the skies. Their sizes varied greatly, and each tip was connected by a thick coil of thread.

Spanning across the pit was a network of strings. There was no point where one could fall from the top and not graze a thread on the way down. If one were to peer into the pit from above, the strings would create the illusion of a floor.

Hidden within each spire was a Weaver of Act X. These were beings responsible for spinning Cloth. Contrary to what one would expect, they were not originally members of Act X, but of a Fallen Atelier called Wefta, who were the original designers of the Cloths.

Lining the walls were staggered balconies. There were exactly three hundred levels, and each balcony rotated at varying speed. This was to aid in the Cloth-making process.

Marionette and Lachesis emerged at the highest balcony. Frost and her companions stood by the handrails a distance away. It could not be helped. They were in a celebratory mood, and the way the spiderwebs shimmered in the presence of Frost and Cer’s light caused them to appear like fireworks.

A metal hand clasped at the boney handrail.

“Clothina.” Lachesis spoke Marionette’s true name. “May I ask what occurred between you and the Amalgam?”

Marionette’s hand tightened imperceptibly, causing the rail to groan.

“I was given a choice. The opportunity to command my own threads.”

“Have you taken it?”

Marionette laughed and briskly waved a hand into the air, suddenly plucking one of her tethered strands.

“Not quite. I am, in all aspects, still tethered. Lachesis. Come. Stand by me.”

“For you to make a request that isn’t written in a Script…” Lachesis was shocked, but that quickly turned into amusement as Marionette uttered:

“Ask one close to your bosom to share the same air you breathe.” She recited a Commandment. “How mundane. It lacks the severity I am accustomed to. The contradictions. The dichotomy. The authority. We are beings who require direction. But this freedom to leave it open ended…”

Her grip loosened, and her shoulders hunched forward.

“… It has it’s its merits.”

Lachesis silently moved to her side. Their attention was drawn to the spiderwebs that sprawled across the three-kilometer gap. Beholder Marionette reached out to one string, plucked it, and then, the azure clouds above parted, revealing the seal of the Fate Mechanism.

Then, she held out the same strand to Lachesis. Without sharing a word, the Mothlinen obediently received it and attached it to her spool. They did not need to speak to understand one another.

Such was their bond.

Frost and the others snapped their attention to the two all of a sudden. This was because Beholder Marionette used a Beholder Skill, which had flashed in front of Frost as a prompt.

|| Prolepsis Medias ||

“Time carries all tales. It holds all possibilities, and all futures. When visualized, it is no different from a strand.”

The string in Lachesis’ hand illuminated like a second sun. The network of strings that spanned the entirety of the Loom dispersed into billions of bright particles. Countless streamed towards Lachesis’ spool as if they were being swept by an invisible current.

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A pale-blue string formed from the particles, and it coiled around the spool, growing with each particle it absorbed.

The Skill Beholder Marionette required immense Nex as well as String to use. This Skill - ||Prolepsis Medias||: hand not been used since the creation of Act X. The reason was because she did not need to know when the current or the next Act began or ended.

Indeed. If the passage of time and its events, alongside every outcome could be condensed into a singular form, then it would be a string. Allotted along the string were indents meant to be severed. These represented ‘Acts’, a lesser form of an Age, which were a lesser form of an Era, then an Epoch, and so forth.

“O’ Amalgam. Bear witness to the prediction made with the very Ego you empowered. Nothing as powerful as an Advent. But enough to interpret the manner of which time is woven. Behold. This will be Act X’s last prediction until we can reenact the Commandments to feed the Fate Mechanism.”

Once the final particles settled into Lachesis’ spool, she carefully held it away from her body. Then, it soared into the air and began illustrating the prophecy of the Tenth Act.

* * *

“War.”

“Glorious war.”

* * *

“Achoo!”

“Princess Perla? Is something the matter?”

Perla wiped her nose with an expensive handkerchief. She curled up into a fetal position as she sat by the balcony, wearing nothing but a night gown. In her free hand was a silver mug of sweet coffee and several drops of liquor.

“Must’ve soaked for too long. Brrr.” She shivered, answering her maid. “Do you think she was talking about me?”

“You believe in that Otherworlder superstition? And who is this person you are talking about?”

Perla giggled to herself in response, and she dragged her eyes from the distant lands, where countless Kingdoms slept, up to the moon.

“No matter. The moon looks awfully large tonight. Doesn’t it make you heart throb?”

“My lady, are you in love?”

She shook her head and cast her gaze back out into the horizon. Despair crept into her hopeful eyes, contaminating its vibrant color.

“We all see the same moon. The same skies. There’s no difference between you and me.”

“I am from Eleph. Barin, the Head Buttler, is a Halfbreed. There are plenty of differences even among humans. You know well that the color of one’s hair is enough to spark a dispute. Ideology: a skirmish. A Gift: a war. People are just waiting for a reason.”

“Still, would it hurt for us to try to find a common ground?” Perla was optimistic, but every day was a struggle for survival. As the face of one of most powerful nations in Emvita, she carried a lifelong burden of countless lives.

Few knew the weight of the crown. Even fewer were aware of the sword that dangled over the head of a ruler. If they were aware, then they would not envy being in her position.

However, there was no one better suited than Perla to lead the Chlam Empire.

Her maid gracefully left a rolled scroll by her night desk. Before she left, and as the clopping of her heels came to an abrupt end, she left Perla with one last message.

“Your sister Pearlie is still out there.”

“That fool… I told her to leave the Empire to me.”

“Shall we call her back?”

“Leave her be. I’d prefer it if she wasn’t involved in our matters. You feel it too, don’t you?”

A silent breeze swept through the balcony, and it slithered into her regal bedroom. To the ordinary person, this was but a normal breeze. But to them, it was an omen. The maid’s muscles flexed, revealing abnormally large biceps that resembled armor more than muscle.

“Our Gift will be moved to a safer location. A Star of the Nexus has retrieved a sample of our Gift. We’ll move it by sunrise. Our neighbors must have sensed it.”

“It’ll be fine. The Amalgam will be sending a Moon to her allies, remember?”

* * *

Elsewhere, beneath the same moon, a toe ran along the rim of a wine glass. Crimson bubbles foamed at the surface of a bloody bathtub. Laying against the pale poraclin were the bodies of several young women, each with bite marks along their names, thighs, and wrists.

“Loves me. Loves me not. Loves me…”

“M-My Lady… P-Please. I’m becoming lightheaded.”

“Did you interrupt me?”

“L-Lady Mary…?”

Mary D’ Grace, the Third Generation Vampire and princess of the Larin Empire had been repeatedly stabbing her finger along the forearm of a beautiful woman. A hole was made for every time she uttered: “Loves me not,” out of anguish. It was surprising that the woman had only just complained, given that there were over thirty holes along her arm.

Mary did not enjoy being interrupted. Especially not when her thoughts were filled with those of the Honored Amalgam. No, the Progenitor. If even a First Generation Vampire, like the legendary Nosferatu served this being, then they were beyond that of an Honored One.

“I-I’m sorry…”

“It’s fine, my love.”

“A-Ah… Most merciful–”

As those words left her mouth, her head exploded into chunks of crimson fireworks. Mary had overloaded her system with her blood. By pressing a few of her exposed veins, the blood pressure in the woman’s head forced her blood vessels to rapidly expand. Once those ruptured, and when there was nowhere else for the blood to flow, it naturally accumulated in her head.

“But you do not need to be alive to be enjoyed.”

A fountain of blood spewed into the regal bathroom where Mary lied, giggling to herself as she licked her fingers one by one.

“Yanarin. Preserve their bodies. Leave them on my bed.”

“Yes, My Lady.”

“Oh, and do join us. I can’t move their limbs all on my own.”

“As you wish.”

As Yanarin emerged from the shadows and began dragging the bodies, Mary grabbed a nearby wine glass and scooped the blood from her bathtub. Then, as she held it to her plump lips, she gazed out towards the moon again, and shuddered.

A hand moved somewhere between her legs, and she moaned.

“Amalgam… You will come visit me… Won’t you? If you don’t… Then I might just have to force your hand… Haaaah. Nnngh…”