Chapter 466 - The Creator

He sat criss-cross-applesauce on the palm of the cold, stone-like hand, continuing to wave to the velren until they grew distant. 

As the enigmatic hand raised vertically into the air, perfectly without imbalance, he looked down briefly as the jungle quickly became a distant sight–soon, below him was the abyssal fog that filled the sky. 

Looking up, he saw his destination–an otherworldly castle, surrounded by stagnant, similar hands that wrapped around its somber setting. 

It was unlike any normal structure he had laid his eyes on; formed of uneven, cube-like blocks that formed a somewhat cohesive building. 

"That's the finish line, huh…?" He muttered to himself. 

He slowly brought himself back to his feet as his unorthodox method of transportation neared a hexagonal, stone bridge that was cut off from any connecting land mass amidst the lonely air. 

As he carefully departed from the palm of the enigmatic hand and onto the bridge, he looked up as he truly felt in the boundary of a different realm; one not of the place he spent the past half of a year in, and not one of Gaia. 

It crossed between something divine, and something inhabiting a primordial fear: an enigmatic, uneasy mist stretched across the enigmatic, skyborne domain. 

A lonely bridge; one without one to greet him–only a long, wide path abandoned by all light, except the faint, solemn rays that didn't originate from any star, not that he could notice. 

There was nothing normal about the skies that laid separate from the rest of the realm; exclusive only to this conclusive area of Purgatory: the somber, gray clouds moved actively–twisting and churning as soft, yet vague rays of light shone through them sparsely. 

"This is it," he muttered to himself. 

Looking at the keep that laid at the end of the nebulous bridge, he took notice of its unorthodox architecture; many colossal hands wrapped around the entrance, lining the tall, black-metal door at the very end. 

Accompanying his path, headless statues of armor-wearing men lined the bridge, standing stoic and lifelessly with spears in their motionless hands. 

Even the act of walking this final stretch was a trial in itself; the cold, thin air didn't do any favors for his troubled lungs that had to make due with his mended, but bruised ribs. Most of his body was still bruised, laying purple, blue, and black beneath the bandages that scaled most of his upper-body; sparsely covering his cheeks and jaw, his fingers, and some even finding themselves on his legs. 

Still…I made it. I did it, Macheo…I didn't betray your faith in me, he thought. 

He clenched his fists tightly with his hazel gaze inhabiting his conviction forward as he pushed onward, briefly caressing the tightly-wrapped bandages around his right eye. 

It was a surreal march forward; his heart throbbed in his chest as his mind flooded with many thoughts. 

There was an uneasiness that inhabited the mist that coiled around the abnormal structure; a light hum emanated from it that he couldn't tell if it originated from his mind playing tricks on himself, or if it truly existed. 

Each step forward swayed the strength in his legs; the bridge began to slowly turn–though whether it was his own dizziness, the fog obscuring his vision, or the bridge truly turning–he didn't know. 

He looked down, watching as the hexagonal, blackened steps seemed to shift about as he stepped over them. 

None of it felt real, but alas, he continued forward until reaching the ominous entrance to the final keep. 

In front of him, he was greeted by the existence of a doorknob in the shape of the gray, stone-like hands that lifelessly caressed the structure. 

"Do I just…?" He muttered to himself. 

He grabbed hold of the doorknob, feeling the cold, smooth stone meet his fingertips as he begrudgingly knocked it against the metallic gate. 

Though he didn't exactly knock with much forceful intent, the resulting impact chimed like an alarm sounding off–resounding loud enough that he covered his ears. 

"What the…?" He grunted. 

After the colossal door chimed, it began to rumble before slowly beginning to part its dual-forged gates before him. 

The mist billowed at the parting entrance of the keep; coalescing and brushing against him as he swatted it away to move forward. As he entered the unknown building, his steps resounded as they echoed against the stygian steel flooring below. 

Pushing through the mist, it began to dissipate as the interior was revealed to him; it stretched in all directions, far and wide, without a doubt possessing a much grander size than the exterior led on. 

Slam. 

He swiftly turned around as the massive gates slammed shut behind him, taking the residual fog with it as many torches stationed on the interior pillars began to light themselves. 

They burned with a silver, mystical flame, scraping the shadows from the black-steel castle. 

This place…he thought. 

Nothing about it was orthodox; it's architecture wasn't human, and the atmosphere was brisk and thin, yet he had no trouble breathing in the enigmatic air. 

As he began to step through the gargantuan hall, feeling minuscule in its vast size, he looked at the colossal statues that inhabited the space between each of the vertical-grooved pillars. 

Each was unique: knightly men, women shrouded in robes, godly beings, and beasts alike–but all were carved from pitch-black stone, looming over him in their grand scale. 

There was little that occupied the liminal corridor of giants as he slowly walked forward, keeping his wits about as he swept his gaze around; though the silver-lit torches didn't reveal but half the vast hall. 

What he set his sights on was the entryway into another room that inhabited the end of the dimly-lit space, moving towards it like an ant roaming through the domain of titans. 

Each of his strides forward echoed through the acoustic hall, signifying to any that may inhabit the domain that he was coming. 

I don't know what I was expecting, but this certainly wasn't it…He thought to himself. 

Once he reached the unlit, awaiting room, he stopped just before the threshold, gathering his breath as he felt something off about the chamber. 

He could see nothing beyond the threshold; absolutely pitch-black, absent of the light's grace–though he could feel it was vast by the brisk air pouring out from its large space. 

It was rare to tangibly feel his instincts speaking to him; tingling across his body, stirring an unnatural itch, warming his blood–all warnings for what laid in that dark room beyond. 

What the hell is this…? I'm not scared–but my body is. I'm trembling. There's something…dark in there. Something ancient, something beyond human…he thought. 

As he looked down at his quivering, bandaged hands, he forcibly clenched them, though he realized even his teeth were chattering. 

"Don't," on the thought of stepping past that stygian threshold, that's what his body told him. 

From his exhausted, bruised pores, sweat began to leave as he stood there–clashing between instinct and rationality. 

Pushing past the primal warnings of his own body, he stepped over the threshold—taking only that single stride as he prepared for silver torches to once again greet him.

Nothing. 

In the pitch-black domain, only the echo of his footstep through the entryway echoed with some semblance of anything.

Just as he was left alone in the lightless chamber, he just as quickly turned himself, ready to leave the way he came as the fear etched itself further. 

—Whisk. 

Only as he turned, did the torches hanging, unknowingly to him, lit themselves simultaneously. 

He remained frozen, with his back to the chamber as it was cast on the dim, silver light. 

"Ren Nakamura." 

—A voice called, but it couldn't be registered as such. 

Even though it was a call of his name, it felt more like an all-powerful command from a transcendent force. 

It was powerful; it clearly wasn't a yell, but the power behind the voice was enough to vibrate the floor beneath his feet.

Part of him didn't want to turn around to see the source of the ascendant voice, but he'd rather not risk offending them, either. 

He slowly turned around, keeping his gaze to the ground as he faced the direction of the voice.

"Are you afraid? That's a normal reaction." 

The powerful voice spoke to him as it reverberated off the metal-reinforced walls. 

He didn't respond, keeping his eyes to the stygian floor as he tried to overcome the unnatural fear that coated his skin. 

"Raise your gaze."

—He didn't have any choice. 

He was compelled to look up, slowly lifting his head, though he didn't want to.

It wasn't magic; it was simply the overwhelming aura of the enigmatic entity that made his words carry such power. 

As he finally saw the one who spoke, he found his breath stuck in his throat. 

It was colossal; inhuman, yet it inhabited a vaguely humanoid shape. Clad in abyssal-black skin with snow-white fingernails and a lipless smile, it possessed no eyes to be seen on its smooth, bald head. 

He was hardly the size of its toe, as it sat on a throne fitting for its gargantuan size. 

"Welcome, Ren Nakamura: you've reached the finality of your struggles," the colossal figure spoke to him. 

"I…" He attempted to respond, but found his words still caught in his throat. 

All the colossal, throne-sitting entity wore was a silver kilt, looking down at him with his non-existent gaze, though it could be felt more than any other. 

"Gather your breath, Ren Nakamura."

For some reason, it was only when he was told that by the entity that he was able to coax his lungs into retrieving oxygen properly. 

He held his chest as he was finally able to breath properly, still exuding sweat from his pores. 

What is this…? I've never felt anything like this before…! He thought. 

"I am Togae, the creator of Purgatory," the entity introduced himself, holding his ever-present smile.