Scott approached with light steps, and the egos stirred. Both the children and the adults instinctively took a step back—except for the woman who had yelled earlier. As Scott continued forward, the egos retreated even further. They couldn’t explain why, but their forms innately rejected the idea of being near him. As if his very existence was something to be avoided—at all costs.

  “Leave!” the woman roared, turning to her companions.

  Without hesitation, the adults scooped up the children and fled as fast as they could.

  Scott halted a few paces away from the woman, still wearing his smile.

  “First things first,” he said, his tone light. “I’ve no intention of destroying you. Let’s get that out of the way—”

  “It sure doesn’t look like that,” she snapped. Her voice was steady, but Scott could see the tremble in her clear, limpid eyes.

  She’s holding it together better than that kid, he noted, observing her carefully. But I still don’t get why they’re all this afraid of me.

  “What do you want?” she demanded, glaring. “As long as it’s something I can give, I’ll give it. Just let him go,” she added, pointing to the sobbing child behind him.

  Scott didn’t follow the motion of her hand. His gaze stayed fixed on her.

  “Before that,” he said, “what exactly do you see?”

  “What?” she blurted out, her features tightening with confusion.

  “How do I appear to you?” he clarified. “Describe me.”

  Her eyes widened slightly. A tremor rippled through her form. She opened her mouth, but no words came. Her gaze darted everywhere except at him, and she fidgeted constantly with her fingers—like someone desperate to be anywhere else.

  “Well?” Scott pressed, still smiling.

  To his surprise, she suddenly bowed.

  “Please… do not destroy us,” she whispered.

  Scott sighed softly, closing his eyes for a moment.

  She’s too scared to even reason properly. I need to find someone who isn’t paralyzed by fear.

  He stepped past her without another word, continuing his advance through the mist. His first encounter with egos he had an affinity with had proven… unproductive. But he held hope that eventually he’d meet one who wouldn’t break.

  Behind him, he heard the woman’s footsteps as she rushed toward the crying child. He didn’t turn.

  I wonder what kind of relationships egos have with one another… Maybe they think of themselves as family? Adopted siblings?

  Various possibilities drifted through Scott’s mind, but he let them go as quickly as they came. The blacksmith’s hammer rang out in the distance, persistent as ever, while the mist around him thickened. Yet it did nothing to impede his vision.

  Based on what I’ve seen so far, I should focus on egos covered in gold or blackened gold. Anything less is probably a waste of time.

  Most of the egos had scattered deeper into the mist. He was certain word of his arrival had spread, carried by those who had fled earlier.

  Lost in thoughts, a new set of footsteps cut through the mist, prompting Scott to stop. Turning to his left, he spotted a figure emerging through the haze.

  Lustrous grey hair. Wrinkled arms brimming with vitality. Bare chest, marked with scars and shifting, living tattoos. A face he didn’t recognize—yet somehow felt familiar. Full beard. A calm smile.

  Scott narrowed his gaze.

  No affinity, but clearly not ordinary. If we did share affinity… Obsidian rank?

  The old man stopped a few paces away, his grin unchanging.

  “What’s the matter?” he said. “Can’t recognize me in this form?”

  Scott’s brows shot up. His thoughts raced.

  No way… Is that who I think it is?

  The old man chuckled at his reaction. “Heard a monster was on the prowl,” he said. “Had a hunch it might be you. But I didn’t think we’d meet again—at least not this soon.”

  He eyed Scott up and down, nodding in approval.

  “You finally did it,” he said with a clap. “Accepted the nature of your madness. No wonder they’re terrified.”

  Scott’s eyes narrowed slightly.

  The old man chuckled again. “You’ve figured it out now, haven’t you?”

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

  Scott gave a nod, opening his mouth to speak—but the old man cut in.

  “I know you’ve got questions. Follow me. This isn’t the place for talk.”

  Saying nothing further, the old man began to move. Scott followed in slow steps, never losing sight of him.

  I can’t believe this is actually the ego of the War Hammer of the Mad God. Scott mused as he walked. Now that I think about it, what did I expect it to look like?

  He could recall the rare instances he’d heard the ego’s voice when it still inhabited the war hammer. Even back then, the voice sounded like someone who had lost count of the changes time brought. But I wouldn’t have thought of him as an old man. Then again, he always did sound annoyed—derisive even—of my existence.

  Scott momentarily shifted his gaze away from the ego, surveying the surrounding stillness. Other than the endless mist, nothing came into view. He focused on the ego once again, his thoughts drifting.

  If he’s here, where’s the ego of the Chains of the Abyss? Scott frowned. I remember seeing multiple egos leave both weapons... or did it only appear that way because I couldn’t properly perceive their forms?

  The question lingered briefly, but he let it go. No point dwelling on what he couldn’t control.

  Although he hid it well, I could still see the fear in his eyes when he spoke earlier, Scott recalled. If even the ego of my former weapon fears me… can I realistically find something better here?

  He sighed softly and shook his head. No. I’ll only focus on what I can control. Worrying about anything else is pointless.

  In silence, Scott followed the ego’s lead, pushing aside all irrelevant thoughts.

  He didn’t know how long they had walked, or where they were going. But at some point, he realized he could no longer sense the presence of other egos. The mist had also grown denser, billowing in massive, innocuous waves.

  “We’re almost there,” the old man finally spoke. “Just a few paces ahead,” he added, glancing back at Scott.

  “Where exactly are we going again?” Scott asked.

  “I should have mentioned it earlier,” the old man said with a chuckle. “We’re going to my home.”

  As his words echoed, a sudden shift occurred. Like a hot knife through butter, the mist peeled away.

  Radiant blue skies stretched overhead, unmarred by clouds. Below, a vast field of lush green swayed gently in the wind.

  Scott paused, taken aback. There’s such a place here?

  He admired the strange serenity. Apart from the neatly trimmed vegetation, no other signs of life were visible. That the ego of the War Hammer of the Mad God had chosen this place… it was not what he had expected.

  “What’s the matter?” the old man asked. “My home is just up ahead,” he said, pointing.

  Scott followed his outstretched hand and spotted a pristine, rustic cabin in the distance.

  His gaze flicked back toward the old man. “Seriously, that’s your home?”

  The old man nodded, beaming. “Yeah. It’s great, isn’t it?”

  Scott didn’t respond. He just wore a dry smile. I guess you could say it’s great… but this is totally not what I was expecting. Would it be prejudiced if I said I expected something… crazier?

  He let the thought go as the ego resumed walking.

  Though the environment had changed, the persistent ringing of the blacksmith’s hammer remained. It was quieter now, but still present.

  Scott kept pace with the ego. As they neared the cabin, he found his gaze drifting toward the structure more often.

  It looked as if it had been crudely constructed at first, then meticulously revamped over the years. There were no distinct features—perhaps that was intentional. Beside it sat a small, borderline-neglected flowerbed, as though its creator had made it on a fleeting whim.

  Two carved wooden stumps had been transformed into chairs, and between them was a larger stump fashioned into a polished, glossy table.

  “Have a seat. Let me prepare some refreshments,” the old man offered, gesturing to the chair.

  “There’s no need for that,” Scott replied.

  “I insist,” the ego waved him off casually. “Trust me, you’ll enjoy it.”

  Scott watched him go. If someone had told me a day like this would come, I’d have said they were insane. But here we are…

  He chuckled softly and walked toward the chair, settling into it with a surprising ease. His eyes lingered on the cabin.

  What kind of refreshments does he mean, anyway? Do egos even need to eat or drink? And if he has a place of his own… could the other egos have homes too? Maybe there’s a hidden town—or even a city—somewhere in this space?

  Different questions plagued Scott’s mind, each birthing a fresh wave of uncertainty.

  His gaze occasionally drifted from the cabin to take in more of the idyllic surroundings. At least there’s someone here who can entertain my curiosity. Feels like we’re going to be here for hours...

  His thoughts trailed off as the cabin door creaked open. The old man returned, carrying a long, fleshy stem that resembled sugar cane. It had been neatly chopped and arranged on a smooth wooden plate.

  Scott’s eyes, however, focused on the faint, shimmering motes dancing above it—like stardust caught in an unseen current.

  Is that supposed to be the refreshment? he mused, watching the old man settle into the seat across from him.

  With a casual gesture, the old man placed the plate on the table with a soft thud and slid it toward Scott.

  “Try them,” he said. “They’re good. Not quite the thrill of devouring madness, but… pleasant enough.”

  Scott glanced between the strange offering and the old man. “What are these supposed to be?”

  The old man chuckled. “I honestly have no idea. But they taste incredible—and that’s good enough for me.”

  Scott cackled softly, shaking his head. “Thanks. There’s plenty of time to enjoy them later. For now, I need to ask you a few things.”

  The ego nodded slowly. “Even after uncovering your nature, you’ve kept that blunt edge of yours. Admirable,” he said, leaning back. “It’s only natural to have questions. I’ll do my best to answer.”

  Then, with a thoughtful pause, he added, “But before we begin… may I ask you something?”

  Scott nodded once.

  “What is the nature of your madness?”

  Silence lingered. Scott met the old man’s gaze without a flicker of change. The ego waited, patient and still.

  Then, after a pause that stretched between heartbeats, Scott answered.

  “Infinite Worlds, Eternal Madness.”

  The old man’s eyes twitched. His mouth parted slightly, as though he had more to say—but no words came. The reaction lasted only a moment, yet it betrayed a sliver of something deeper. Fear? Reverence?

  “Your nature is indeed…” the old man muttered, lips trembling, eyes struggling to focus.

  “Don’t stress about it,” Scott said with a small laugh. “I know what you’re trying to say.”

  He leaned forward. “Now, I guess it’s my turn.”

  But he didn’t speak right away. His fingers drummed lightly against the polished table. He’s afraid—but not enough to stop him from talking. That’s good. The others, though? Not so much. I need to know what I look like in their eyes if I want even a chance at getting them to work with me.

  Finally, he asked, “Let’s start simple. How do you see me?”

  The old man gave a nod. “Just a moment.”

  He raised his hand and made a slow swiping gesture through the air. A shimmering silver plate materialized on the table, catching the light like a pool of liquid metal.

  “Have a look for yourself,” he said, pushing it toward Scott.

  Scott reached for it—and froze.

  Then he laughed softly. “No wonder they’re all scared. I should’ve known this would happen.”