Applying Exotic Metaphysics (Return, 18.4)

I stared into the eyes of a demon. Of a god.

He smiled back. I saw the twinkle of amusement, of manic cheer and a delight in my pain. He still hadn’t wiped off his face- my blood still splattered over a portion of his fine suit.

I was still reeling, slightly, from the suddenness of his attack. It hurt more than it should have… and normally, I’d had the strength of will to shake something like that off. It was something he’d done, I was sure. The rules here were different, than they were in Mundus.

I was standing in New Sheoth, in Sheogorath’s palace. In his realm. The rules here were up to his whim, now, and I was just starting to realize what that meant, looking at his manifestation.

Something slithered behind his eyes, and I could feel it slithering behind mine as well.

“... It’s easy to see you as just the goofy cheese guy and forget that you’re actually terrifying,” I said finally.

“Why can’t I be both?” He asked, wiggling an eyebrow. His eyes glinted golden for a moment, slitted like a predator. I had to look away for a moment.

“There we go!” He cheers. “I do outdo myself now and then, don’t I, Haskill?”

“As always, my lord,” Haskill said, droning on.

“So, enough party tricks,” He said. “The Greymarch! My boring-er half! You came here adventuring with a bit of a plan, didn’t you?”

“Sorry, I’m a bit thrown off by the whole ‘disemboweling me’ thing,” I drawled, glaring at him. “The plan’s a conditional one. I had to ask some questions first.”

“Well, if you’re here to solve my problems, then go ahead! Ask away! I’m an open book!”

“Do you actually want the Shivering Isles saved from the Greymarch?” You ask.

His eyes flickered again. This time it wasn’t nearly as pleasant.

“Do I? Well, do I? Hmm. Good question…” His presence shifted, and he was yelling. It’s only all of my people! All of my realm! My entire creation, torn down and I have to put it all together again!” I winced at the hot spittle from his mouth, wiping it away.

“Nero fiddled while Rome burned,” I said. “But more seriously… I’d have thought it would get boring.”

He glared. On one part, one shivering part of me quailed. But to another, it felt… fake. Artificial. Like the attack had been amplified, made to hurt more, make more of an impact. As soon as I realized it, I started standing straighter. That quailing winked into nothingness.

“Oh, so now you know what it’s like to be Sheogorath, do you?” He asked. “ The Prince of Madness?! I’ll have you know-”

I reached out and pushed his mouth shut.

“No, I was more thinking of the more important aspect of your mantle,” I called out. “The one everyone forgets. Creativity. Art.”

He pauses. Raises a finger. Lowers it. And then bats my hand away from his mouth.

“The only problem with your Shivering isles is that it’s just one canvas. One piece of clay to sculpt. The Greymarch, I think, exists for a reason. Wiping the slate clean. Getting you a new canvas.”

“Hmm. You raise a good point. Impertinent, though, you won’t want to make me any tetchier than I already am!”

“What, going to disembowel me again?” I asked. “It’ll get boring, eventually.”

“Before, or after you go raving mad?” He asked, eyes flickering.

“Before.” I said. “So, my next question,” I said. “... Why were you created? How were you born?”

“You seem like a well-read sort,” Sheogorath said. “What do the books say?”

“Well, they mostly don’t know Jyggalag exists, so they’re all wrong.” I said. “That’s why I’m asking you.”

“That big mean old Jyggy was too strong and scawy,” He said. “So all the other Princes cursed him to become me. But you know this.”

“I’m getting to the point,” I said. “Here’s the real question... Why did Jyggalag let them?”

At that, Sheogorath didn’t have a response to give. He blinked once. Then twice.

“Do you mean to imply…” He trails off for a moment. Them, he slumped back in his throne.

“... Heh. Hehahahahaha!” Sheogorath crooned. He began to cackle. It sounded deranged. “Of course. Of course! He let them!”

He turned to me. “You never needed to go through the Gates, did you? You’re already one of mine! Hahaha! What do you need?”

“I’d like your permission to seek out Jyggy’s library. What’s left of it,” I said.

“Ahhhh, yes. Dyus. The key. Haskill. Give it to her. Quickly, now. Quickly.”

Haskill was partially hiding behind the chair- and had been for a while, ever since I pushed Sheogorath’s jaw shut. He held out the key, and I took it. Without another word, I turned to leave.

Sheogorath happily waved back, scooping up what viscera I’d left to begin jumping rope. I forcefully pushed the image out of my mind and kept going.

===

There was something too cold about this place. It didn’t have the dark, oppressive atmosphere of Dementia, but it entirely lacked the warmth of Mania.

“Ah,” The ancient man said. “I did not know you would be visiting me this soon.”

“Do you know who I am?” I asked.

“Red of hair. A powerful sorceress,” He said, slowly. “You must be the Champion of Cyrodiil.”

“... Wrong.” I said. “My name is Maria Manatsoni.” I said.

He paused.

“The unexplained variable.” He said, slowly. “You’re the Shadow. The serpent. The missing piece. You are the imperfection that I’ve had to recalculate for so long.”

I stared at him. My shadow coiled around me. I remembered Aetherius again, a fraction of a moment- a moment in which I was hollow, nothing. Fake to this world.

In that moment, I realized. He might have my answers. He might know what had happened. He might know how I ended up here.

“... I have questions.” I said. “And Sheogorath allowed me entrance to ask them.”

“How droll,” He responded. “What answers would you like me to give you?”

“How did I first arrive in Mundus?” I asked, walking slowly around him.

“Mundus?” He asked. He looked me over. His lips twitched for a moment, and he muttered to himself for a moment. “... The last living Dwarf, and Divayth Fyr. By my calculations, they were seeking another of Divayth’s kind. They found you instead.”

“And where was I before that?” I asked. “Was I really the Agent of Daggerfall? The one that activated Numindium for herself?”

“In a manner of speaking. But to answer your question in the spirit it was intended… No.” He said, frankly. “That is how the world perceives it, and likely how you perceive it as well. But as far as my understanding goes, they enacted retroactive causality, to give you a place to have always come from.”

“... And where was I before that?” I asked, finally. “How did I get here?”

He smiled.

“I doubt Sheogorath gave you access to my library to ask such personal questions,” He drawled.

“Tell me, you motherfucker.” I said. I reached out to grab his collar.

“Or you’ll kill me?” He asked. “I truly wish you luck.”

It took actual force of will to slowly let go of him, allow him to sit back in his chair.

“You were going to ask something else, before your selfish greed took over,” Dyus said.

“You don’t know, do you?”

“Jagar Tharn’s phase-altered duplicate self asked a question from you, when it was his time,” Dyus said, slowly. “And he was annihilated because he couldn’t handle the truth.”

I stepped forward, and-

“Seek the Grove of Reflection, at the heart of Milchar.” He said. “And there you will find your answer in a form you will understand.”

“... Alright. Fine.” I said. “Why did Jyggalag allow the Daedric princes to curse him?”

“You assume he chose to allow it?”

“... If your Lord had the ability to know everything that was going to happen and why, then he would have known the reactions of the other Princes. Which meant he could have chosen not to-”

“My Lord is not a being of choice. Free will is an illusion. Your actions, and the actions of every being in existence- from people, to daedra, to gods- are all determined by mere probabilistic definition.”

“...You don’t think he chose to allow it to happen. You think he was forced into it by his nature.”

“Yes.” He responds. He doesn’t miss a beat.

I frown. “... That doesn’t fit. His goal- the overarching goal he was trying to achieve was.. .what, complete Order across all of existence? Even if he was limited… he’d be limited in making the most optimal choice. Right?”

Dyus stared impassionately back.

“That was not his goal.” Dyus says.

“... then what does he want?”

“He seeks, as he has always done, Amaranth.”

At his word, the world began to shudder. My eyes widened. I realized.

“... How can I speak with your Lord early? Before the Greymarch?” I asked. “Even if it’s just a fragment?”

The trembling settled, dust falling from the ceiling.

He smiled, and began to talk.