Chapter 1335
Killing the Author
When Eivass awoke from that tearing sensation once again, he saw only ruins. The entire world had plunged into maddening chaos.
People screamed, panicked, and hated. Then they were swept into it, killing, destroying, shattering—the Extraordinary had gone mad, attacking everything they could as if in a revelry. Rather than being “hypnotized” or “mind-controlled,” they were more like zombies or fanatical believers who had lost their minds. Their behavior was extremely abnormal, imbued with a strong sense of immersion and catharsis, causing their uncontrolled actions to be accompanied by uncontrollable screams and roars.
Blindingly brilliant spells bombarded the Earth—even the gods walking upon the Earth began to attack each other.
The world had clearly been normal before. Eivass was acutely aware of this. Because if the world were to be destroyed at this rate, he wouldn’t have been able to see “the city collapsing and disintegrating.” People would have long since destroyed everything they saw and touched.
This meant that the world’s destruction had occurred not long ago. At some point, the end of the world had descended without warning.
[August 1, 1902]
At this moment, a slow, strangely modulated voice echoed in Eivass’s ears:
[Before people realized it, the Whisper of the Void had already burrowed into everyone’s brains.]
[Like the hooked feet of worms clinging to the intestinal wall, the gaps in people’s minds had long been filled by those whispers.]
[Yes, everyone couldn’t refuse the warmth of being understood, forgiven, and accepted.]
[Everyone’s heart lacked such a warm whisper. Everyone couldn’t be fully understood by others. When wronged, everyone’s heart was like a child’s. They wanted to throw a tantrum, curse, strangle a passing bird, destroy a sandcastle—and they didn’t do it, simply because no one would praise them for doing so.]
[—And you, Eivass? If it were you, what would you do?]
“What would I do?”
Eivass scoffed, “Don’t you already know best?”
As soon as he finished speaking, the voice disappeared without a trace.
“—Just like a rat, I’m getting a bit tired of you now.”
Eivass looked up at the chaos before him and muttered to himself, “I wonder how Ah Huan endured it for so many years, constantly bearing this gloomy gaze?
Undoubtedly.
What he saw before his eyes was the scene of the world’s destruction during the “zeroth loop.”
“Teacher—”
Just then, he heard a soft voice tinged with a hint of fear: “You too—?”
Eivass looked down and saw a winged girl, familiar yet somewhat strange. She clutched Eivass’s arm, her body leaning back as if trying to break free; yet, instinct made her hold on tighter and tighter, like a lonely soul struggling with themselves.
She looked very much like Inanna, down to the wings on her back. It was said that the probability of two winged ones having completely identical wings was very low, much like human fingerprints.
However, her demeanor was completely different from Inanna’s. This girl gave Eivass a feeling of extreme fragility. She lacked the clear resolve of Inanna and was filled with hesitation, insecurity, and fear.
She was just like Haina before graduation. She had the air of a clear-headed, silly university student.
Is this Amber?
Was Amber’s past form like this? But now she didn’t even resemble the Amber Eivass remembered, the one who took the Golden Apple and became “Amber.” She was a true mortal. Not a strong and resolute warrior like Inanna, nor a gentle and steady mother like Amber. This young girl, anyone would want to protect her… like the very first Isabel?
Thinking of this, Eivass paused.
“—Don’t be afraid, Inanna.”
He spoke subconsciously. After Eivass said this, he realized he might have lost his composure, perhaps even misspoken—but judging by the girl’s reaction, she seemed to have no objection to the name “Inanna.” In fact, after Eivass said “don’t be afraid,” even though she was still somewhat scared, she still tried to lean closer, clearly struggling against herself and trying to suppress her inner fear.
What Eivass was astonished by was something else—could Amber’s true name really be Inanna as well?
However, upon closer thought, it was also reasonable. After all, Ai Shiping was the one who named her. Eivass, who had regained most of his memories, had, in a sense, made choices not too different from Ai Shiping’s back then. Or was it because the name Inanna was so deeply ingrained in his instincts that it lingered in his mind?
Just then, Eivass suddenly felt the little bird throw herself into his embrace.
She trembled uncontrollably. The girl’s heart was filled with fear, as if she were immersed in a mixture of ice and water. It was fear of the pervasive “thought plague”—she was also afraid of being infected and becoming that mad. At the same time, it was also the fear of loneliness. Regardless, she didn’t want the teacher she respected and loved to become like that—! This intense emotion overcame everything, even the desire to escape, causing her to hug Eivass desperately.
“Teacher—Teacher, don’t be afraid either,” the girl said, her voice trembling and low as if weeping, buried in Eivass’s embrace. “Inanna will always be with Teacher-. Teacher, please don’t be like them—. Okay—?”
In that instant, it was as if a switch had been flipped. Two lines of tears flowed down Eivass’s face involuntarily.
“—Ah, don’t worry. Teacher won’t be.”
Eivass replied gently and confidently. His expression, actions, and voice were calm and normal. But this formed a sharp contrast with the churning emotions within, making Eivass feel as if a barrier had formed between his soul and body. Eivass felt a feeling swelling in his heart like a flame, which made him unable to suppress the urge to express himself…
But Eivass said nothing. He didn’t utter a single word. Eivass simply closed his eyes and rested his chin on the girl’s head. He gripped the base of her wings with a slightly forceful posture. This would cause a little pain, yet the pain brought the winged girl a sense of reality—a feeling that she truly existed here. And Eivass, regarding this—
“—A bit too wordy, really.”
Eivass suddenly interrupted the narration: “Why are you so sentimental?”
This sudden accusation startled the girl. She looked up in surprise, gazing at Eivass in disbelief, her face etched with unease, as if she had made a mistake.
She was startled. Perhaps she needed comfort, a kiss right now.
But Eivass ignored his inner thoughts and gently stroked her head: “It’s alright, it has nothing to do with you.”
“—Indeed, is there a voice?” the girl asked uncertainly.
“There is,” Eivass nodded honestly. “I can’t even tell, exactly, which part is my true thought—”
Just then, another larger feathered serpent landed. His gentle voice sounded, now considerably grave: “It sounds like you’ve had some thoughts.”
“Mm,” Eivass nodded. “I think I understand—the operating principle of that thing is very simple.”
“Suppose we are all characters in a novel. Then ‘that’ is the narration. It’s our psychological depiction, our transitional justification for our actions.”
“For example, it’s hard for a person to kill a stranger. But if the narration introduces what a terrible day he had, then he becomes capable of killing the other person.”
“The only flaw is probably being ‘wordy.’ Simple words can’t form a complete logical chain, so their narration will overly emphasize causality. But in reality, most people’s thoughts don’t have much complete causality—those are decision-making processes lurking in the subconscious.”
“So, if we want to escape this control, we have to kill this ‘author’.”
