The minutes raced by as Gemini cut down spectre after spectre, his mind a complete jumble of sentences and whispered thoughts that didn’t quite seem to make sense. The remnant thoughts released by those spectres after they fell had a tendency to clump together, but by defeating these spectres in small batches, the resulting whisper didn’t intone in the same mad manner that followed an instantaneous wipe-out.

As a spectre fell apart into two halves of smoking shadow, Gemini couldn’t help but wonder if this was once again the Abyss Sovereign’s way of buying time for himself. The spectres were playing it safe too; both Gemini and Hereward would always face four opponents at any given time, and whenever one fell, the gap would be swiftly filled by its companions.

Sidestepping a claw, Gemini took a step backward. The two of them didn’t mind taking it easy until the others caught up, but they had been fighting for more than an hour already.

“Hereward, how are the others not here yet?” Gemini asked.

Yet another quake shook the tower. In the past hour, such quakes had happened occasionally, surging from upwards to shake the entire Cradle of Creation.

“Maybe they’re arguing about who gets to stay behind and hold off the horde,” Hereward replied. “Or they’re fending it off together, in the assumption that the two of us are enough to insert the modifications into Celestia.”

“Are you serious? They do realise that the modification I intend on inserting simply makes it such that memories won’t be erased, right?” Gemini shook his head. “…Well, I can’t rule that possibility out. But if we operate on this assumption, we shouldn’t be staying here any longer.”

“Mm.”

Gemini glanced at the great god, and as divinity condensed around his blade, he couldn’t help but wonder about the kinds of modifications Hereward himself wanted to insert. The six of them had their own desires, their own things to protect. They were so personal that no one even bothered asking the others about their modifications they wanted to insert, so…

Bracing himself for the storm of thoughts, Gemini took three steps back and drew a line from left to right. The silvery glint that followed, as slow as a falling drop of water, seemed to hit the pause button on the world for a moment, as the spectres froze up from that single slash.

White orbs burst out of the thousand-odd spectres as they fell apart at the waist, fleeing to the shadowy world up above. Once again, Hereward’s face took on an element of sorrow, but Gemini didn’t have much time to dwell on that before a tsunami of thoughts slammed into his mind, overwhelming his reason and beliefs for a moment or so.

As Gemini got back to his feet, he couldn’t help but think that there was probably some compromise needed in his reason for fighting. That deluge of thoughts had brought in many examples of memories that would have been better off forgotten — and Gemini, this time, couldn’t find it in himself to just cover everything with a blanket statement.

“Gemini?” Hereward patted his shoulder. “I see your beliefs have been tested, and found wanting.”

The Demon Sovereign contemplated for a moment. “When I regained control over my thoughts, I found myself looking back into the past. The Second Extermination, my time in Heritage Basestation and Ark City…all the memories I made there, they defined me. Made me the person I am today. To erase them would be to kill me. But not all things are in absolutes, aren’t they?”

“Some people do not want to remember certain things. Others find it an acceptable trade-off for a life in a utopia,” said Hereward. “The Abyss Sovereign chose to ignore all dissent for the greater good. You, however, are not him. Therefore, it’s natural that you have qualms.”

“…What should I do?”

“Accept that your beliefs should have nuances,” Hereward replied, his eyes fixed on the now-empty room. “That you cannot be right all the time. You cannot do the same thing as him, but you can make your choices more palatable. A choice. Give them a choice.”

Gemini looked down on his right palm, and a sigil rose out of it. It was a sigil whose sole function was to be inserted into the Cosmic Egg at the highest floor of the Cradle of Creation, which would then modify some aspects of its creation.

Hereward had lent a hand in helping him understand the specifics behind sigils, which was the way in which people communicated with the world itself. Energy, when channelled in a particular form and manner, would induce the affected area to produce a particular response.

“I’ll stand guard over you,” said Hereward. “Make the changes as you deem fit, but we only have three hours left.”

“Three hours left?”

“It’s hard to notice the passage of time in here. In fact, it also feels like time goes by faster there…but that’s probably my imagination.”

Gemini looked around in surprise. He hadn’t noticed that time was slipping by this quickly, but again, he also hadn’t noticed the utter lack of windows on this particular floor. Presumably, it would be the same going forward, which now meant that the only means of accurate timekeeping available to him would be Hereward.

Another tremor shook the Cradle of Creation, and the Demon Sovereign hurriedly returned his focus to the sigil floating in his hand.

Now that he thought about it, Hereward was right. If he simply believed in one thing, disregarding nuances and complex situations, it was natural that he would be stumped by extreme and outlying cases. The only way to resolve this was to either accept them as a necessary sacrifice, or to demonstrate both empathy and compassion.

The first way was that of the Abyss Sovereign’s.

It worked well, from what he could see. The stern, iron will the world’s enemy had exhibited had contributed to the mighty foe everyone now faced.

However, something told him that there was value in compromise. To take a step back, and to admit that one wasn’t as infallible as they thought. The extreme means that the Abyss Sovereign visualised was justified, true, but that didn’t mean his approach was right.

The creation of Celestia could reach a compromise between free will and peace. It just needed that one element.

Compassion. Empathy.

Something seemed to fall in place as that thought flickered through his mind, and Gemini felt a peaceful smile float onto his face. As a burgeoning warmth spread through his chest, the Demon Sovereign abruptly felt that the convoluted, absolute ideals his sigil conveyed didn’t quite fit any longer, and with a wave of his hand, the sigil vanished.

“You—"

“Don’t worry.” Gemini closed his mind, and then drew a simple, childish heart. “I’m done. Can you feel my will inside?”

Hereward looked at the simplistic sigil — which couldn’t really be called one, admittedly — and then froze up. “You…no way. My words…did you gain enlightenment from my words?”

“As expected of old Orb’s God of Creation,” Gemini replied. “Whenever I look back, I think about my memories. What made them so precious? Why did I treasure them so much? Was it because they defined me? Yes, but more importantly, my memories of Ark City were brilliant and dazzling because people exercised compassion and empathy. The Paragons of Ark City tried to understand me. Lila made her way into my life through her empathy. Demigod Eliza and you yourself showed me compassion, providing me with solace and comfort at my lowest.”

He raised the small heart in his hand. “All these gave my life value. They brightened my memories. Made them worth remembering. Perhaps, all those ills that we see in Orb, all these ills that the Abyss Sovereign sought to solve…they came from not malice nor greed. Perhaps, they came from an absence of empathy and compassion.”

Gemini smiled. “It’s not a great ideal. It doesn’t carry the same dream of saving the entire world. But…”

“It might. It just might,” said Hereward, his voice quiet. “Come on. Let’s start walking.”

The Sentinel of Space didn’t seem affected by Gemini’s words, but he could keenly feel that the old god had been profoundly affected by them. At the same time, the gentle warmth in his chest continued to spread out, reaching into every part of his body and soul.

At the eleventh hour, under the combined interrogation of so many lost souls, Gemini had truly made the last step across the door. Although the nature of his boundlessness was different from the Abyss Sovereign’s, Gemini instinctively understood that there was no difference between his own small wish and his well-meaning enemy’s grand aspiration.

“It’s really simple, when you put it that way.” The Sentinel of Space led the way up. “But you cannot change the hearts of people.”

“I can’t. And that’s okay. This wish of mine is not for the masses,” said Gemini. “But let’s not talk about this for now. Time is running out on us.”

Hereward grunted.

In silence, the two of them continued on upwards. The tremors and quakes that had rattled the Cradle of Creation blasted out every so often, but Gemini believed that the others would at least be able to hold off the huge number of spectres that were probably still surging up from the ground floor. After all, the advantage of numbers was limited in an enclosed space like this. Thasvia and the other three Demigods could fight on a rotating basis and fend off the attacking spectres for a very long period of time, if need be.

After around an hour or so of climbing — Hereward had explained that space had been manipulated to make the darn thing an order of magnitude taller than its appearance might suggest — the two of them finally made it to the next floor, at which point Gemini sat down on the highest step.

“I don’t want to see a staircase ever again,” Gemini forced out.

“Good news. We are very close to the top of the Cradle.” Hereward looked around. “This looks like an antechamber of sorts. So many sparkling things here. There’s even a table and six chairs laid out for us.”

“…We’re indeed fighting, aren’t we?” Gemini asked, tilting his head.

“You do know you became a Boundless One through a wish for compassion and empathy, right? Why on Orb is your first question that of violence?” Hereward rolled his eyes. “Well, whatever. You’re a being that I cannot quite comprehend anymore. I’ll assume it’s just something special to you.”

Gemini rolled his eyes back and looked around the antechamber. It was probably designed by a megalomaniac, but the design was so deliberate, so obtuse, that the Abyss Sovereign felt that it was done, not to impress or to scare others, but to alienate them and create a distance.

“What’s wrong?”

“Just feeling sad for the Abyss Sovereign.” Gemini looked around the place. “Right, can I ask you a question?”

“A question? Sure, go ahead.”

“As I understand it, the appearance of the Demon Sovereign was destined. There was no changing it,” said Gemini. “However, a whole plethora of actions changed the circumstances in which the Demon Sovereign was born, right?”

Hereward nodded. “The Great Divide, according to the Phantom Blade, one of the few sent from a future now impossible, was supposed to have crumbled at a far earlier date. However, the death of the Lifespring granted the Great Divide one last gasp at life.”

“I see,” Gemini replied. “Thereby buying time for the madness afflicting the Demon God to worsen, as well as the vast improvements in military technology that eventually took down the Demon God himself. In that case, what was the Abyss Sovereign’s purpose?”

“His purpose?”

“Or destiny. Why did someone, who apparently was of a similar existence to the me now, appear?” Gemini looked around the chamber, which was giving off a desolate air. “What did the Abyss want from him?”

“Considering that the Abyss is practically non-existent now, I don’t think we can really find an answer, though.”

“If we knew, we might be able to understand him better,” Gemini muttered. “But I suppose we’ll have to leave this on the backburner.”

“We’re not waiting for the others?” Hereward asked. “Are you that confident?”

“No, not really. But we can’t afford to delay any longer, right?” He glanced back at the precisely arranged, tomb-like room, and then hurried on upwards.

The time of creation was almost upon them.