Unwritten Mythos

Arthur's face had felt the frigid touch of death itself, but to describe the sensation—words would fail any ordinary man. His mind reeled with the memory, a lingering chill from the icy hand that had clutched his soul as though it were holding his very existence in place. It was more than cold. It was an abyss that pulled him into itself, the weight of inevitability crashing into him like a dark ocean wave.

It wasn't pain. It was terror, like standing at the edge of a thousand-foot drop, knowing there was nothing below but endless darkness, and yet forced to take a step. A tremor that ran from his bones to his thoughts, blurring reality.

He couldn't have imagined what that would feel like before, but now he had no need to imagine. He had lived it.

Now, as he strolled down the street, Arthur turned back for a final glance at the abandoned building. The sky above it had become a twisted canvas of dark clouds, swirling ominously as if the heavens themselves were haunted by the presence of the Goddess. His fingers closed tightly around the small necklace, his only souvenir from the encounter.

"Goddess of Death..." he muttered, inhaling deeply, trying to purge the lingering chill from his lungs. He tucked the necklace away and continued his slow departure.

The words of the Goddess echoed in his mind. She had revealed the secret of their abilities—what the Chaos Insurgency had long known. Their powers were not perfect. They were born from stolen, incomplete potions taken from the Garden of Eden. These semi-finished concoctions were flawed, unstable.

Yet, she did not condemn them. No, the Goddess almost admired their defiance. If they could harness these broken gifts, push beyond their limits, she might even show them mercy. Maybe she'd repair what was broken within them.

Arthur hadn't known this. Unlike the others, he had drifted away from the Chaos Insurgency after the fall of 009 Splitter. Most of them had returned to their original lives, pretending to be normal. But some remained loyal to the ideals of the Insurgency.

Arthur, however, had always lived on the fringes.

He walked deeper into the night, his thoughts spiraling as they always did. Suddenly, from the shadows, a pair of purple eyes glinted in the gloom.

"Tired of playing games, Dart Man?"

Arthur paused, stomping his feet lightly before turning to face the speaker. Emerging from the darkness was a man wearing purple-tinted glasses—Naira Sorkin, the 6th seat of Chaos Insurgency, known as the Sinner.

Arthur raised a brow. "Playing? Who's playing?"

Naira's frown deepened, his eyes narrowing. "You still think you can live your 'normal' life? Forgive me, but a dog's life would be easier than yours."

Arthur tilted his head thoughtfully, raising a single finger. "You're not a dog, though. How do you know that their life's any easier than mine?"

Naira rolled his eyes, not amused by the usual absurdity. "And you're not me, so how do you know I don't? It's obvious, Arthur. You could be more. Why waste yourself like this?"

Arthur leaned back against a nearby wall, casting a casual glance toward the starless sky. "For most people, a normal day means waking up, going through the motions, and repeating the same thing every single day. But us?" He flashed a crooked grin. "Every day is different."

Naira sighed, shaking his head with a weary smile. "For example, being paid a dollar to play clown outside a shop, then starving, or worse, not even having the chance to starve because you won't stop?" His voice was edged with sarcasm.

"You think that's such a great life? We have powers, Arthur. We can reshape the world, defy its rules. Why are you wasting your potential on this farce?"

Arthur closed his eyes, breathing in the cool night air, as if savoring the moment. "You know," he said, "I've always had a dream."

Naira groaned internally, recognizing where this was heading. "Not this again," he muttered under his breath. "Arthur, spare me the speech. It doesn't mean anything. Just stop. Please."

Arthur opened his eyes and looked at Naira, his smile as unwavering as ever. "No, you've misunderstood. I don't want to be a comedian anymore. Now, I'm going to become the Humorous Dart Man."

Naira stared at him, speechless. "You... you're serious?"

"Dead serious," Arthur replied, strolling forward with his hands in his pockets, ready to leave.

As he passed by Naira, he added, "By the way, I've seen that Revelation you all keep talking about."

Naira's purple-glassed eyes glinted with curiosity. "So, the Goddess finally woke up your rusty brain?"

Arthur stopped for a moment, chuckling. "Oh, everyone's clapping."

"What?"

Naira stared after him, utterly bewildered. Every conversation with Arthur seemed to unravel into chaos, and within a few sentences, it was impossible to tell where he was headed or what he meant. It was like talking to someone who existed just a few steps outside of reality.

Naira rubbed his temples. "This guy... he's beyond help. Forget him. Let's find the others."

...

In the dark expanse of the crack space, Mei's eyes lingered on the shimmering stars, though her mind was far from celestial beauty. She traced the intricate threads of thought swirling around her, pondering the infinite intersection between personal will and destiny, a concept both grand and minuscule in her hands.

She had just finished reading The Human Constellation Shines, a book detailing the rare collision of human genius with historical moments, and the profound impacts those singular flashes of brilliance had on the world. The book had struck a chord within her, though she couldn't quite pinpoint why.

A faint smile curled at the corner of her lips. "Personal will and destiny," she mused. "The universe is vast, but how much of it is shaped by the choices of those small, inconsequential beings?"

Mei's gaze sharpened as she clasped her hands behind her back. The vast blackness of the space shifted, revealing endless galaxies swirling and unfolding like stories told across the cosmos. "If I were to create a sandbox of worlds, a playground of civilizations," she continued, her smile growing slightly darker, "how far could they go? What limits could I push?"

But something felt off. Her own joy, her fascination—it wasn't merely intellectual anymore. There was a stirring of something deeper. She gently touched her face, a realization creeping in. "Why am I so fascinated now? Have I grown too complacent...?" Her voice trailed off.

It wasn't fear that stirred in her heart, nor uncertainty—just the awareness that nothing, no force in her immediate reality, posed any true threat. It was the intoxicating allure of invincibility that made her guard drop ever so slightly.

She exhaled, turning her attention to a peculiar individual who had piqued her curiosity far more than any cosmic phenomenon—the man named Arthur Morgan.

"Arthur Morgan," she whispered, almost savoring the name. His inherent abilities, by all appearances, were utterly unremarkable. He could summon knives, plain and simple. No magical trait, no enhancements, no infinite metal production—just ordinary knives.

And yet... time after time, Arthur defied the constraints of his own limitations.

"Trash abilities," she said aloud, her voice carrying an almost amused mockery. "A simple parlor trick by all accounts, yet his will allows him to shape his world in ways that shouldn't be possible."

Arthur's ability to summon blades within small radius, a strange quirk of his Potion. A dull skill, yes—but it was his will that warped its nature. Though the Potion had only been intended to allow a minor control over the physical world, Arthur's grasp of it had expanded the power far beyond its intended reach. Now, any knife could appear within that twenty-meter radius, as if he willed them into existence—not just in his hand, but in his enemy's heart, or skull.

His knives didn't need to be deadly to begin with. His mind made them so.

"In his eyes," Mei continued thoughtfully, "the world outside that twenty-meter radius may as well not exist. It's meaningless. The people out there don't matter—because they can't touch him within his realm. And perhaps, somewhere deep down, he knows it too."

A flash of interest danced in her eyes. The sheer irony of it—the insignificance of a man at the bottom of society becoming master over his own personal domain, ruling a space no one else could understand.

Mei turned away from the shifting galaxies, her thoughts still fixed on the nature of Arthur's power. "When the force of a Potion clashes with the will of the one who drinks it... the results are never predictable. But they can be extraordinary."

She pondered further: "Arthur is someone who sees the world in a fractured way, his mind already splintered from society. The twenty-meter radius around him becomes his fortress, his isolated kingdom. In that space, knives can appear anywhere. It's no longer about the limits of the ability, but the reach of his imagination."

Mei's fingers lightly traced an invisible shape in the air as she thought of others who might drink the same Potion. "Imagine," she whispered, "what would happen if someone with an iron will, someone who knew no doubt, drank the same Potion. Would their blades become unbreakable? Would their will shape their abilities in ways Arthur could never comprehend?"

The possibilities stretched before her like a vast, uncharted landscape. "Traits of entrustment," she murmured. "Traits of withdrawal. Fusion. Advancement."