He looked her straight in the eyes; he couldn't bring himself to understand what drove her so fiercely to lead a revolution. From what he gathered, she was nobody, an ant fighting a mountain—the battle was already lost before it began. What was the point of fighting if the outcome was already written? That was what left him utterly perplexed; he was well aware of all the odds stacked against her, but he suspected they must have had a foolproof plan for their attack, otherwise everything she was doing was nothing more than collective suicide.
She noticed that gaze attempting to pierce right through her; she smiled, leaned down to light one last cigarette, and then, straightening back up, looked him up and down.
— There's nothing to understand, Mathieu, you simply won't be able to grasp it for the time being. As I said earlier, I am not the only camp; there are plenty—even here there are several—so don't be surprised that everyone is trying to pull the blanket over to their own side.
— Am I in a theatre, then? Do I have to play a part? Manipulations are pretty common in today's world anyway; you don't need to go to another world to realize that. But you still haven't answered my question: am I an ally, or an enemy?
— I'd say you're a bit too talkative for my liking. In the theatre, you have to know how to blend into the background, rather than making a spectacle of yourself the way you're doing with me... but it's a fair question to ask here. To tell you the truth, Mathieu, you're a nobody, in the sense that you're neither one nor the other for now; you're still walking that tightrope stretched between the two.
Mathieu didn't answer; he had heard so many times that he was right in the middle, neutral, that he was starting to get sick of it. He didn't understand why he was being dragged into a business he hadn't asked to be part of; he just wanted to understand and make up his mind on the matter. But Grace and her companions only gave him meager information—just enough for him to catch on, but far too little to form a solid opinion.
— Answer me more clearly, Grace, about the other part of this so-called cube: what is it like among the monsters, the people of the demonic path? Who are they? And what about their powers?
— I'll only say one thing about the people fighting against this system: down there, the world looks somewhat like the one above, except they have a different perspective on it. I won't hide from you that they aren't on our side either, but at least they've already figured out who the enemy is—and that's something.
— They could very well kill you, right after wiping out the other camp—do you realize that? As you just said, they're bad, they only care about their desire for immortality, or whatever. I don't see anything positive in that.
— You don't understand... up there, they control the door. That door lets you move on to the next stage, which is essential—we're not going to stay here for eternity, after all. He monopolizes everything; the bad people, as he so loves to call them, are fighting to prolong their lives, hoping to one day get a shot at passing through.
Mathieu stared at her blankly; this whole business about a "second round" or whatever else completely eluded him. Already, the powers had seemed incomprehensible to him, but now it all seemed utterly absurd: a world filled with magic, gods, and other things just to gain power, all for the sake of making it to the next round. He looked completely lost in the face of all these explanations.
Grace went on speaking:
— You will discover the horror of the things surrounding you soon enough, in this New World as well as among humans. There are many magnificent things down there, but the horror makes them fade from your view, leaving only the essentials. We'll contact you again if you become interesting, Mathieu. One last thing: a new era is coming, witness it!
Mathieu had a mild headache; he saw Grace starting to get up and called out to her again:
— Wait, stay right there! You haven't answered my question about magic powers yet, Grace!
— What else could you possibly want to know? We've already given you a most explicit summary on the subject; and here I thought you were smarter than that. What explanation are you still missing? You should have said so from the start, instead of moving right on to the next thing.
— Really? Are you serious right now?! I'm missing absolutely everything in the way of an explanation; I was even polite enough to keep quiet. The lack of explanation was so bad I actually wondered if what you were telling me was one big joke. On top of that, after these explanations—the most pathetic ones I've ever heard in my life—you tell me that some guy is coming tonight to explain it all over again. If he does the same thing you did, I'll kill myself on the spot!
— Stop with the sarcastic talk, Mathieu! Have your cynical words gone to your head? What do you want to know about our powers and theirs, for goodness sake?
— Everything! I want to know everything, Grace! I'm a fantasy and science fiction fan, so I'm used to reading books with magic powers—some well-explained, others less so... but right now, I'm faced with one of the most abstract explanations I've ever heard in my life. What's fundamental in fantasy books is how the magic works; it can usually be divided into two: hard magic, which follows precise and well-defined rules, and soft magic, whose rules are vague, mysterious, and uncertain. But with your explanations, I don't even know what to think—ah wait, it reminds me of those Chinese xianxia novels where characters have powers, but you never know where they come from. The powers you described to me are defined, but you refuse to tell me everything; and conversely, on the other side, in the other world, they have powers, but nobody knows a thing about them. I know you know things, so tell me, I have a right to know!
— The truth! What a good joke. The truth is a toxic cloud that drives you mad, that's the truth! There's no logic to understand when it comes to their power; I don't even know what they're called, there are names sure, but their language sounds more like decipherable tongues than anything else. Their power descends from Spiritual Treasures, but their origin is almost like a family tree—we can take the example of languages in our world: French descends from Latin, Spanish and Italian descend from Latin too; it's the same thing for powers, but the world down there has already existed for over ten million years, if not much longer. Quite a few powers have appeared, then had descendants of their own... you can't know everything, especially if God starts handing out powers to whoever cares to listen. We're not in a book anymore, Mathieu, there is no logic down there, this world is absurd, and so are its powers—you could almost talk like Zarathoustra, and even that philosophical metaphor has no place down there anymore. The truth is a double-edged sword; there are things you'd be better off not knowing at all.
Mathieu started getting a headache; he didn't understand how he had ended up here. He placed a hand on his forehead, which was growing burning hot, his vision gradually blurring. Grace noticed this change quickly enough and smiled.
— That is the price to pay for obtaining certain information. Headaches, blurred vision, and then... death, if you push your luck too far. Some things deserve to never be spoken of, like these powers—their language belongs to another world that is not ours; we are only visitors down there, we cannot even, we must not even know such things.
— Stop with those honeyed, manipulative words. You run all kinds of experiments, so defying prohibitions is practically routine for you with all this research, isn't it? As you yourself said, this world is someone's game—so he knows, and he authorizes access to all this information; you just need permission to hear it. But I know you know things. Just say yes—why lie like this? You wanted to help me, so give me this truth.
— I know so much, yet I am equally ignorant of everything else. My knowledge is merely a drop in an infinite ocean, Mathieu. If you want to know more about the origins of these powers, go search for it all yourself; as for me, I've never been interested. When you're down there and facing someone with a power, you don't think, you attack; if you win, then you're the strongest, period; if you lose, then it's the end of you. Only victory matters in the end. Knowledge is one of those things worth knowing, but it comes with a price; you have to win to move on to the next stage, so be it—if necessary, certain people have become so strong that they've created their own floor, their own laws in their pseudo-world. Here is a reality to accept: power is absolute in this world.
— If they can create their own law on their own floor, why don't they leave this place to move on to the next?
— Because they've already reached the end. They've seen everything, done everything, accomplished everything, so they create their own space to rule as masters, unseen and uncontrolled by this divinity. They have their goal, just as I have mine. The people up above are in cahoots with the divinity, they obey it; and I want to bring it down, like the others. For the world to be just, this injustice must be struck down.
— Basically, you all want to become God!
— Surely... to change things, you sometimes have to take control of everything.
She stood up from her pouffe and crossed the barrier; as soon as her body passed through it, it vanished instantly. She took a few steps before quickly walking back over to him, leaning in close to his ear, and said:
— Do you know the tale of the lemon man?
— Not really. What is this story about, this lemon man?
She looked at him with a faint smile; he noticed a sort of sadness mixed with happiness in her eyes, like... like... he didn't know how to explain it or put it into words, but he sensed a kind of pleasure in her gaze at the thought of telling him this strange story. She continued:
— You should head downstairs in a few days; by then, I'll tell you the story of the lemon man.
When she finished her sentence, she finally left, rejoining the people who had accompanied her; she turned back for a final wave, the others looking at him with complex emotions, yet greeting him with a wave of the hand nonetheless. They moved away from where they were standing, positioning themselves at the exact opposite end of the door.
Mathieu watched them leave; he didn't really know what had happened during those minutes spent with them—he had accepted the existence of this power, or at least that he possessed one, received an explanation about a new world... and to top it all off, a private interview with Grace.
He was glad to have gotten so many explanations, even if they were still lacking on certain subjects; he had managed to learn quite a bit. But another feeling took over within him, almost making him forget everything else—a sort of sadness mixed with regret, an inexplicable feeling. He didn't know why he felt that way, but he felt detached, detached from them, but also from himself; at that moment, he felt as though he were in a dream where anything could happen without truly making any sense. He knew many things would happen soon, but he didn't necessarily feel concerned by these future events, like an invisible man walking through walls; he felt indifferent, even distant from it all.
A few sudden, highly pessimistic thoughts crossed his mind, but were quickly cut short: the door was opening. The sound woke Mathieu up and also plunged the entire room into absolute silence; everyone looked toward the inside of the door before the room's noises gradually resumed.
Footsteps could be heard; they were walking toward the exit, but the commotion in the room almost drowned out those heavy footsteps. When they came out, the door slammed shut violently; Mathieu, who could only see the door to his right and heard only those footsteps, was unsettled to see it close so violently without anyone's help—but he quickly remembered the explanations he had received earlier.
Everyone rushed toward them. Barely out of the place where they had been, they found themselves already surrounded on all sides. Hardly had they taken a few steps out of the entrance when everyone already wanted to talk to them about goodness knows what problems.
They were shouting, shoving each other to talk to them about I don't know what. Seeing this, Mathieu thought he was hallucinating; he couldn't believe his eyes. Everyone was pushing and calling out to one another; those involved seemed to be answering their questions, but the whole spectacle made Mathieu uneasy. He saw people piled on top of one another, some holding peculiar objects, champagne flutes, ancient books, in their white coats. Their bodies and limbs almost merged to form a single, unified entity; everyone seemed to be talking, looking, reaching out toward different objectives. It gave a deeply deconstructed impression of these men and women who usually seemed so upright, so controlled, so educated, now devolving into an excess of chaos in their movements and utter confusion.
Mathieu even began to get eye strain, coupled with a mild headache from staring at all of that; he looked away to the side to observe other people who seemed calmer, also quietly busy watching Dupont and his colleagues. But something bothered him there too: on the woman's face, he now saw three new faces appear, all identical, their heads tilted to the side as if she were starting to melt, like ice cream under the scorching heat of a midsummer day. She had five arms for three feet; the buttons on her blouse were beginning to give way, revealing the shapes of her chest through the scant fabric she wore. Her voluptuous lips moved up and down, a thin trail of drool making their slightly reddish hue gleam, and she was emitting a sound he couldn't quite make out.
Nearby, he found men who seemed to have almost merged with one another, like a whole crowd locked within its own thoughts, preoccupied by its activities—that stream of consciousness shining through right in the middle of an evening that already felt so distant even though he had barely stepped into it. Their bodies, arms, and faces blended together, creating a new form of disorder and suffocation in this room that suddenly felt so cramped. Everyone seemed to want to push forward without really paying attention to others, without even seeming to see one another; some spoke in low voices, others stared into the distance without truly observing what was in front of them or looking for their way in this growing crowd, but none truly appeared connected to the rest—everything was blocked, or at least their limbs were thrashing in all directions, an object in hand.
Seeing this once more, he thought he was going crazy, or even completely sick; he blinked, as if trying to wake himself up from one of those distorted dreams, but it didn't work. Tired of it all, he sat up straighter in his armchair and noticed his cup, nearly empty, with a bit of coffee left at the bottom; he drained it in one gulp, the warmth comforting his throat—the sensation of a warm current coursing through his whole body almost made him rediscover the beverage. As he set it down, he looked back at the woman: to his great surprise, she had returned to normal... everything had gone back to normal, from her hair to her shoes, and the same went for the people beside her.
He looked at them with a confused eye, not knowing what to make of these nearly delirious visions; he pondered, watching them, without paying attention to the shadow drawing closer to him. When two hands came to rest on his shoulders, he started slightly.
The voice seemed a bit surprised, but remained jovial:
— And here I thought I'd made enough noise coming over to join you. From the looks of it, you're still deep in thought; you should honestly focus on reality, don't you think? Thinking is fine, but sitting around for goodness knows how long without having a conversation must have been downright frustrating... what are you thinking about, Mathieu?
Hearing that voice, Mathieu tensed up; his face hardened and his headache came back with a vengeance. He tilted his head back and caught sight of Dr. Dupont, who was looking down at him with narrowed eyes and a slight smile on his lips.
— Who says I haven't already spoken to anyone? Appearances can be deceiving, wouldn't you say?
— Certainly... I've caught wind of more than a few enticing pieces of gossip; my lovely doves have told me about quite a few misdeeds. So, don't you have anything to tell me that might have seemed suspicious? It would be a shame to find out through someone else's mouth... what do you say to that?
— You can't hide a depraved nature forever; sooner or later, either that nature rears its head, or someone with justice in their blood unmasks us. In either case, you always end up with a noose around your neck... what do you say to that? But the reverse doesn't work, so I have nothing to fear on my end.
Dupont looked at him without saying a word; throughout the discussion, he had kept that small smile at the corner of his lips, contrasting with his eyes, which stared at him without a shred of emotion—he looked at him the way one looks at an ant about to be crushed. He walked over to a sofa situated diagonally from Mathieu; as he sat down, he picked up an available cup and filled it with a light brown tea. He took a first sip, looking satisfied, his gaze calm, almost gleaming; he set his cup down, crossed his legs, picked it up again, and looked back at Mathieu.
— What do you want from me, Dr. Dupont? I don't believe we're close enough to share tea together; so, what do I owe the honor of this courtesy visit? Aside from accusing me of a crime I didn't commit, what do you want?
— Easy, my dear Mathieu, drop all these formalities about "Dr. Dupont," call me by my first name: Nythar. I came because I felt you needed me; you summoned me in a way, and now that I'm here, you want me to leave because of my so-called accusations? But I only said that for your own good; I don't want anything to happen to you when you're innocent. Let me guide you; I'm your equal after all, in a way, so just let go.
— They say the greatest strength is that of ignorance: not seeing a problem right in front of you might be perceived as cowardice, but it's actually a bit more courageous than believing in a god who ignores us our entire life. I believe that only my actions will define the path I take; so, from time to time, pretending not to see a problem can be the greatest of remedies.
— That's hard to hear, my friend. Believing in nothing doesn't make us special beings at all; since I am nothing, the same goes for you. Self-determination doesn't exist, only the inevitability of destiny does; death will catch up to us year after year, which is truly the only fair thing in this ignorant god's creation. We always fight against that thing, but what is the point of fighting the void if nothing exists? Accept this chaos, and everything that comes after. Perhaps that is far more courageous than copping out by escaping reality.
— Who says I am nothing? I am, like many people, searching for a source of motivation or a goal to achieve; that involves some of the most solitary activities even though they only work in groups, which can be perceived as a form of individualism, but that's just a perspective specific to certain people. From time to time, we become pessimistic, even nihilistic, because nothing goes your way—but that doesn't mean we truly are; some days, yes, you could say that, but not all the time. There is nothing courageous about believing that nothing exists; one just needs to be a bit objective to realize life is far from being that ugly.
— Saying it the way you do may just be a form of escapism; the fact remains that we are shaped by our own freedom to choose. But sometimes, knowing how to recognize that none of our choices may have been decided by ourselves, but rather by the cruellest of fates, is one of the most touching forms of resilience. Knowing that nothing exists is also a form of resilience in the face of what we truly are. We can rely on God, so we become him to control the few choices we have left; good and evil will no longer be of any use if we are already dead. We become the creation fighting against its own all-powerful creator. Morality, at that point, is only good for being banished to the abyss. We transcend that to rise to the top of the chain; we become supermen, beauty can be found in any horror, in a heinous act... what about knowledge, from a woman to a man, when it is trampled upon?
Nythar looked at him with a most delighted smile. Mathieu turned his head aside; he didn't want to see that. His gaze drifted into the distance, toward Grace, sitting with her comrades; she was looking at him with a smile on her lips, moving her mouth slowly, but he instantly understood what she wanted to say: "He'll find out sooner or later: this demon, this devil who fancies himself a so-called savior. Beware of him like the plague; he is as manipulative as he is eloquent."
Dupont turned his head toward where Mathieu was looking and caught sight of Dr. Sullivan, who had been watching Mathieu, though her gaze instantly shifted to him. Nythar smiled upon seeing this, keeping one eye fixed on Mathieu, who had noticed his look. He smiled and looked away from Dr. Sullivan to look back at him; a small chuckle escaped him, and he almost had to restrain himself with his hand to stop laughing, but his laughter wouldn't calm down.
— Heh! Hahahahahahahaah!
Mathieu looked at him, not understanding why he had started laughing—nothing was funny. One of Dupont's eyes drifted toward Grace in the distance; his face turned serious upon noticing her, before instantly returning to Mathieu.
— So, it's her! I knew it, they talk but never know each other's names... so you were the one talking to her, Mathieu, weren't you? You're not answering anymore, which is a real shame; you've been well and truly played by chatting with her, she isn't very honest—her intentions aren't for everyone, but for her own personal aims.
— You could say that most of our intentions are just personal drivers; I don't see any evil in that. I'd even say that the greatest causes, those meant for the greatest number, are often the ones that hide the most selfishness.
— I'll make a note of that, but that's just an illusion on your part. Saving the world, saving the greatest number of people, does that mean nothing to you? I would gladly give my life to save the greatest number, but it comes with a price... the price of power. They must have explained a bit of that to you: the powers we have, and the ones they have, all of this is possible, but at a most substantial price; you'll find out soon enough.
Mathieu looked at him, his face dark, without interrupting him; his hair stood on end, and a drop of cold sweat trickled down his back. He immediately understood what Grace meant: Dupont wasn't normal. His words were soft, he spoke in a very calm and composed manner, but their meaning was deeply unsettling. Dupont himself seemed calm; he sipped his tea while talking, occasionally looking at Mathieu, but most often keeping his eyes closed, his legs crossed.
— The beauty of a thing is found in the most shocking moments of our life; horror and beauty are one and the same, don't you find that strange? It is in death that all our secrets are revealed, which is magnificent; no matter that no one wants to die, for that is precisely when we are at our most sublime—which is quite paradoxical, since we become monsters ourselves in the face of it. Experiments will serve to discover this, to survive, to avoid dying, to try to become immortal; creation is born from the absurdity of human behavior, morality is merely paradoxical, I sometimes wonder if it ever existed at all. In the chaos, many see control within this aesthetic of things; I am a hero who makes the most drastic choices, where the moral dilemma weighs upon everything.
Mathieu didn't understand what he was saying; given his rambling, he would have thought he was talking to himself.
— What are you talking about? What?! Immortality, and human experiments?! Are they turning into monsters? But why?
— Everything has a price. If you want an answer, you will have to do me a favor. I am less generous than Grace on that point, I grant you that, but unlike her, I will only tell you the truth.
Mathieu looked at her without a word; he wanted an answer, but the price was going to be too high for a simple piece of information that he would sooner or later end up discovering with his own eyes. Dupont drew closer to him, stood up, moved to his side, leaned in close to his ear with both hands resting on his shoulders, and said:
— I want you to be transparent with me; I am your colleague, your ally, I simply want you to be honest with me—no lies between colleagues, just the pure truth. I want you to tell me what she said to you, everything, down to the smallest detail, without leaving anything out.
— Why? She didn't do anything wrong; so why monitor her?
— For now, I know nothing about her, but I am almost sure she is plotting something, though I don't know what. You see, coming over to talk to you in private inside a bubble that muffles all internal sounds is already more than suspicious... If you want information, you must tell me what you talked about; it's a most fair exchange.
— There's nothing to tell about this woman; she is as logical as you are, and completely normal, there is nothing more to say on that. But I find this deal unfair: you are essentially asking me to betray Dr. Sullivan's trust, for an answer I am almost certain I have already found.
— Then ask me something else, I can answer all your requests... but the only condition is to tell me what she told you; there is nothing complicated about that, my dear Mathieu. Say it, and you will have answers to your questions.
Mathieu remained silent. Dr. Dupont gave a faint smile and handed him something, a small madeleine; Mathieu took it mechanically and ate it. Dupont observed him from head to toe, glanced at his watch, and noted that the time was approaching.
— I didn't expect this, but in hindsight, I was still convinced you wouldn't say anything; destiny often hides its hand behind other appearances. I will accompany you to the end of this adventure; through me, you will see the horror of all things. Through me, you will see the eternal stagnation that inhabits these places. You are meddling in the wake of stray consciousnesses that venture beyond the threshold of these places. Celestial justice has breathed its design into my transcendent demiurge. I am the work of divine power, and of the supreme wisdom of the primal love I received from the creator. Before me, there was nothing, and in that nothing, yet, everything already existed: the eternal savagery of the world. And I remain, eternally, the guide of all. Abandon all hope, you who have entered the beginning of this new world. Follow me, I will show you everything that remains on the other side.
As he stood up, he extended his arm, but Mathieu did not take it; upon seeing this, his expression turned complex. He turned away, before looking back at him once more, his gaze having grown distant, and spoke quickly, a far-too-fake smile on his face:
— I almost forgot: tonight, I advise you to stay in your quarters; one of our advisors accompanied by one of our priests will come to brief you on the entire history of this world and the powers it shelters. I'm sure you're going to love all those explanations.
Mathieu was about to reply when a noise burst forth; an electronic sound seeming to come from the circular table, like a radio failing to pick up a station, a burst of static. It lasted a few milliseconds before an image appeared, rising from the center of the table where nothing had been before. About twenty people appeared on this giant screen, each bearing a sort of number at the bottom of their face, from one to twenty-five. Seeing this, Dupont called everyone over.
— Well, let's move closer to the table; the outside advisors have just arrived, take your seats, the meeting is now open.
Everyone moved toward the seats; Mathieu searched for his place for a moment before settling down, noticing that he was positioned opposite everyone he had spoken to during the day.
"Now the other fox wants to guide me; what on earth could I have done to draw him to me? I'm really starting to understand why Grace's companions doubted me. And now, a surprise meeting—nothing is surprising anymore in this day," Mathieu thought as he settled into his chair.
Silence returned; Dupont and the Professor stood up to greet the council, everyone watched one another, and Dupont spoke in a neutral, calm tone.
— Let's begin this meeting.
End of this episode.
Thank you for reading.