"No matter what epithet you take,"
"No matter what promises you break,"
"You are still yourself."
"The 'I' in Identity,"
"And all mine."
***
Jugram Haschwalth stared listlessly around, indifferent eyes scanning the vast incorporeal space around him, folding and twisting, ten views displayed all in one; akin to a tesseract's function.
There are countless stars within the observable universe, spanning near endlessly should one not see the precipice of infinity.
Words echoed in his mind as he stepped atop space itself, multiple iridescent lights congregated across the stellar expanse.
Approximately thirty stars for each waking second that passes us by in the conscious and unconscious world, each within their own confined galaxies. Their dying light would continue to span on for countless light years, however, so even a star which dies quickly would still die within eternity.
He continued walking, letting the words flow softly into his ears. It seemed to be some hymn of comfort, carrying boundless familiarity he couldn't quite understand.
But even then, all things eventually fall to entropy within this cosmic ballet. No matter the multiplicity of pirouetting stars, dancing asteroids, or waltzing quasar; their choreography torn asunder.
Belts of stardust flew around him, and he ignored them. Splendorous sights they were, even if all facets of existence were starred with ubiquitous lights, he couldn't find much beauty in them. Beauty was subjective, and he had seen the most beautiful of all existence when granted The Almighty, and yet the most putrid of existence too.
In comparison, grains of sand to a planet couldn't even begin to fathom the amount of stars within this scape.
The voice continued to whisper to him like a lullaby, and no matter where he glanced with his six-irised eyes, he couldn't discern its existence. Uncomfortably, his heart beat beyond his wills and serenity, as if tantalized by it.
And even then, despite their near boundless prospect incomprehensible to any normal mind, they are as easily consumed as sustenance to a lifeform.
Jugram narrowed his eyes as flickers of immense photons burst forth in front of him with their explosive grandeur, illuminating the cosmic bubbles surrounding him, beckoning him for a rest.
They drift beyond heliopause and nebular birthing grounds, encompassing all.
The expanse shifted, folding inward upon itself. He didn't stand on any sort of surface which would support his mass, and still he was supported by something he could tell was far vaster than space, and more intimate to existence than form.
Come, look further, past everything that bestows itself before your eyes.
The words bled into his perception, something that felt utterly familiar. He could not remember when they began within his memories, or if they were even thoughts of his own. His steps carried him forward across invisible curvatures of space, uncaring of their implausibilities.
A quasar may last for a hundred million years, and yet that length cannot define our time together.
The shapes of galaxies twirled below his feet like mosaic glass in temple walls. Jugram reached out his hand, fingers brushing against a stream of particles that fled as if in deference to his touch, bowing beneath his sparked Reiatsu.
Don't you long to return?
He looked behind himself, seeing nothing, but hearing everything that was spoken to him. A voice lingered just across his shoulders, piercing his ribs, and pervading even his sixfold eyes.
A supervoid spans 1.8 billion light-years across, empty for every acre of space it consumes, and that is the distance which separates us.
The cradle of his thoughts was rocked e'er further, disturbing him.
Can you see the past the length, and behold me in your eyes once more?
His heart seized, and for one rare moment in his millennia-bound existence, Jugram Haschwalth felt his soul recollecting pieces that didn't seem to belong to him. He was about to reach his hand to nurse his aching head, but something else had already done so before him.
You've always achieved so much that I fear I would be left behind.
It was a touch beyond the realm of intimacy, cold and dainty fingers dashed across the side of his face and sending him alert.
Your form is now one of beauty and sublime that cannot be described with words. It's utterly remarkable.
He attempted to stare forward to meet whoever was in front of him, but his gaze met emptiness at the forefront, his head pulled forward by hands he could not see. It felt like the figure of somebody bringing him closer in order to whisper into his ears.
I haven't ever forgotten you, and I hope you haven't forgotten me either.
You will recall eventually, that I can assure you.
And when you do, I will be the one to stand by your side.
No matter how much you change, you are still who 'you' are.
Who... he was?
Do you understand?
There was a phrase spoken in the Book of Exodus that Jugram remembered being writ by the prophets of old, detailing The Almighty in all His ethereal glory.
Now...
Let's take a small step back.
Hallowed scriptures that withstood the test of time, the words of existence spoken to Moses on Mount Horeb.
Can you tell me who you are now?
...
...
...
"I Am That I Am," He responded.
***
Jugram snapped viciously out of his stupor as a waterfall of blood flew to the ground from his lips, staining the bathroom sink underneath him. His pupils shook and shrunk, his hand moving from underneath his ivory cloak in order to cover his mouth, fits of unending coughs regurgitating blood piled in his trachea and larynx.
The wet gurgles ended there as golden locks of hair cascaded down his head in front of him, face hanging over the stained bathroom sink.
"Jugram!" a voice worried sick called out to him, one he identified to be Theresa as she hurriedly ran to his side with a handkerchief in her hands.
"...Much appreciated," he simply said, taking the small white cloth and turning on the sink, wiping his sanguine mouth.
Warm liquid graced his fingertips through the article of cloth, said parts at some intervals brushing underneath the flow of water escaping from the mouth of the sink. The splotches of fresh blood on the sink's surface parted by the light pressure of the water's impact, flowing down the drain.
"What happened?" Theresa continued to stand by his side as Jugram cleansed himself from the bodily filth spilt undignifiedly.
"Overexertion, it would seem," Jugram responded, wiping the last stains of crimson blemishing his countenance. "Bestowing upon you a Schrift through blood is much more taxing than I would have expected."
Yet The Almighty Himself had done so with such incorrigible ease.
"Do you not have any other method for that 'ceremony'?" she asked, brows pressed down in disapproval.
"I do not. If I did, I wouldn't have done something so unpleasant as having you consume my own ichor." Jugram turned his eyes toward her, the flow of the water's accelerated seepage never once stopping. "Aside from that, it seems you've acquired a physical form now."
Theresa stared at him for another second, before shaking her head and staring down at the palm of her hands. "It would seem so."
"Your body is composed entirely of Reishi now, acting as a physical medium. However, it's quite strange..." Jugram drew out at the end, glancing down at the sink to see if the rest of the dirty had been cleansed yet. Still some.
"How is it strange?"
"Reishi is essentially spiritual matter," he started explaining. "You should not be physically seen in any manner, nor should you be existing in the material sense, but you still are. Suffice to say, your body is much more complex than simply the involvement of 'Reishi'. No, it extends beyond it with another influencing force."
Theresa opened her mouth. "Ah... so that's how it is?"
"Do you understand now?" Jugram turned off the sink, crumpling the permanently dirtied handkerchief in his hands and burning it away with blue flames of the Quincy.
"Yes I understand." Theresa nodded. "And you know... I sewed that handkerchief myself." She motioned to the ashen remains of what the Grandmaster had just burnt away into cinders.
"So?" he stared at her blankly, straightening his posture and readjusting the collar of his cloak.
The Sarkaz in response, stared at him with the same blank look, the two stuck in that short moment, gaze never once buckling underneath the other.
"...If you desire me not to destroy them," Jugram finally spoke, breaking the silence. "Then say so next time, and I would adhere to your clause."
Theresa tilted her head. "I will make sure to ask you next time, then." She let out a huff of air, perhaps bereaved of tolerance to his inept capacity for unspoken social rules.
"How is the development of your Schrift so far?" Jugram pressed his fingers against his chest to feel the pulsation of silver coursing through both his cardium and cardiovascular system. "The Adversary is what I believe to be a... very formidable power you've been granted."
"Well, you already suggested veiling my presence with it." She folded her hands in front of herself. "As you know, it has been done without much difficulty, seeing as nobody has noticed my physical presence."
"It's just as I thought," Jugram said, hiding his arms underneath his cloak and letting it drape down to obscure his overall frame. "You are capable of becoming an 'Adversary' to any and all laws which persist in reality. A mighty Schrift, as expected." He nodded in a scholarly manner.
An adversary was something which opposed something else. To become an adversary to her own presence, Theresa could oppose it and hide it from reality, neglecting anything that would attempt to make her be seen.
Theresa hummed. "And this Reiatsu..." She lifted her fingers up, feeling a pink flame embark its way at their tip.
"You've already gained access to a potent amount of Reiatsu. Your proficiency in malleating it however, leaves much to be desired," Jugram swiped his hand in front of him, briskly brushing it against the spark of Reiatsu at her fingertips and dispelling it.
"Hm..." Theresa looked marginally dissatisfied at his act, looking at him with a kind of churlish look.
"Whatever Originium Arts you possess would surely aid the prospects of your Reiatsu's output and efficacy, that much I can foresee," he continued. "We will migrate to the training rooms tomorrow whilst hiding your presence. I will tutor and enlighten you on methods Quincies utilize in order to forge their Reiatsu for effective combat."
"Is combat all Reiatsu is competent for?" Theresa asked. "Or can it be used to create, as you have done before?" Although she did know the uses for increasing one's combat capabilities, what interested her far more was the 'creation' aspect she had witnessed with the blonde-haired Sternritter's strands of Reiatsu more than anything else.
"Establish the rudimentary basics first." Jugram snapped his fingers, his own pervasion of Reiatsu erupting across the bathroom and pressing a sort of spiritual pressure down on Theresa's shoulders.
"Mmh?" She widened her eyes as she almost lost balance.
"And then perhaps you can dream of forging a kingdom from Reiatsu alone. Though—I shall grant you the benefit of the doubt—your talent for 'construction' is beyond any other I've seen; barring a certain... somebody, of course." Jugram glanced toward the door.
"Was that necessary?" Theresa said, shaking her head in order to relieve herself of the previous pressure.
"Exposure to foreign Reiatsu is fundamental to understanding this force," Jugram said, taking a step toward the door. "It's a learning method."
"I see," Theresa said, wondering in her mind if she could do the same to the blonde-haired man in the future—surely for learning rather than any petty reasons—of course.
"Keep your presence hidden. I still have negotiations to attend tomorrow, and would desire any soul distinguishing your existence," Jugram said, stopping in his steps. "Especially those Sarkaz."
"I already know the procedure, you needn't fret."
"Good."
Jugram began walking once more.
His thoughts drifted again, a commonality that worked well to make his millennia-long existence much more bearable with its agonizing length. It moved past Theresa, the Lord of Fiends, Reiatsu, and to a different view he had spotted within the Schatten Bereich.
He now stood in the structure of Rhodes Island's moving body, away from the realm shadowed from reality's perception. Yet, there was still a view which had perturbed him to no end, one that had leaked into his thoughts while the stagnating silver in his body had been disturbing him.
...
It was beyond the shores of the Schatten Bereich he had established with Rhodes Island as the base, that Jugram Haschwalth had seen with The Almighty.
A rhombus within its folded skies beyond the realm of corporeality.