16
Dragon Ball Super: Twilight of Gods, by Chronos-X
Saga I: On Mortality and Consequences
Book Two: Quitela
Chapter 10: Goddess of Memory
The Void Realm…
The silence within the Forbidden Library was stifling. For all his efforts, former Hakaishin Mule couldn't detect a sliver of sound within the dust-enshrouded penumbra. Head propped up by a voluminous tome, the warrior once named God of Destruction Vermoud dithered between slumber and vigil. The former Lady Jerez strove to keep busy at all cost, devoting attention to one among countless moldy volumes.
"I can't do this. I just can't place it."
Lying supine, the late Lord Vermoud languidly turned his visage to his counterpart from the Gentle Universe.
"Something on your mind, Solera?"
"Apologies, Belsazar. I was just thinking out loud. Every tome I've examined is written in an altogether different language. Some of them combine several languages, to say nothing of the ones protected by magic seals. At this point, it wouldn't surprise me if any of them were booby-trapped."
Belsazar Dolin sat up with a start… or at least he would have, had he been able to.
"Are you insane!? Put that shit away! You trying to get us all killed!?"
"Where is your sense of adventure? Besides, Masala didn't say anything about examining these breathing hazards."
"And you're just going to take his word for it!?"
"What part of 'he said nothing' did you not understand? If this accursed abode is anything like the ancient Imperial Library of Planet Dawon, the truly dangerous tomes will be stored at the lowest levels of the library."
"Indeed. It wouldn't make any sense to place them in the upper levels."
Dolin was far from amused.
"I don't recall asking for your opinion, Mule."
Scowl on his countenance, the Chertenokian turned away.
"And I don't recall asking you for permission to speak."
"All I'm saying is, we should be more careful. We're depowered, undeified, stuck in an alternate dimension with a bunch of SOBs who make Beerus look cute and cuddly."
Newly recovered from a gargantuan yawn, Solera squinted before a pair of severely degraded pages.
"I mean, it'd really suck if we got killed by a freaking book, of all things."
Zevion grumbled inaudibly.
"We get it, Dolin. Don't talk to us as if we were idiots."
The Tarokian awkwardly jerked his upper body upward.
"Hey, I'm just looking out for us, ok? I don't see you doing anything of use."
"You call lying down and snoozing in the dust 'useful'?"
"Sure beats hanging around you, poindexter. How 'bout you put that brain of yours to good use and make with some kinda gadget to get us outta here?"
The late Lord Mule gave the stink eye to his counterpart from the Universe of Justice.
"With what? We don't have anything of use."
"Sure you didn't sneak in some gizmo or other?"
"Sencha's men searched me from top to bottom, same as the two of you."
The late Lord Vermoud yawned out loud.
"Terrific; freaking terrific. So we're stuck here till Chifir and pals say otherwise… so much for you being even remotely useful, Zev."
The imp all but snorted contempt.
"I beg your pardon?"
"It's just… you're supposed to be the genius, the guy with the ideas, you know."
The disgraced fallen god from the Spiritual Universe turned away.
"I'm a scientist, not a miracle worker."
"Excuses, excuses…"
Solera was about to intervene when Sorokov beat her to the punch.
"I don't see you doing a damn thing."
Dolin was far from impressed.
"I'm trying to come up with a way to reach Jiren and the others. With any luck they—"
"They'll what, Dolin: lose and get erased again?"
"Va chier! My guys outlasted yours in the Tournament!"
"Indeed, because unlike you, they're not a bunch of долбоёбы!"
"The fuck did you just call me!?"
"Figure it out, wise guy."
"Zevion, I'm warning you…"
"That's enough, you two! We—"
"What're you gonna do, Vermoud: sic that overrated circus trope of yours on me!? With any luck, they'd be about as useful as wet tissue paper!"
Belsazar Dolin all but stared death at the Chertenokian.
"Big words from an insufferable toady who left his family to die."
"BELSAZAR!"
Solera's exclamation echoed throughout the hallway. Stunned into silence, Zevion made as if he were about to cry, only to regain his presence of mind in less than a heartbeat. Clutching both fists as if he were wringing Dolin's neck, the imp made for the massive door before them, only for Al-Shedeh to detain him.
"Solera… let me go."
"You're not going anywhere, Zevion. Remember what Masala—"
"I know what he said, and I don't give a shit. Let go of me."
"Don't test me, Mule. Powerless or otherwise, I will make you obey."
"You're not my fucking mother!"
"You've made your point, Solera. If he wants to go get himself killed, I say we let him."
"Belsazar, listen to yourself! Surely you can't be serious!"
"Do I look like I'm joking?"
Zevion glowered.
"You look like a clown. Same difference."
"Listen, you little shit—"
"ENOUGH!"
Silence. Solera was about to speak again only to think better of it. Tired and defeated, the fallen gods sat apart. Eyes shut, legs crossed, Sorokov sought to clear his mind, only to find himself assaulted by long forgotten voices.
(Translated from Yiddish). {Where the Devil have you been, you little shmatteh!? We thought they captured you!}.
{Stop screwing around with that hunk of metal and come help us, you little leech!}.
{Take it, Zevion. I'll be fine… I don't even feel hungry anymore}.
{HELP ME, ZEVION! HELP ME!}.
Much too numb to cry, Sorokov buried his head on his knees. Belsazar lied back down as Solera repurposed the book into a pillow. Less than five Earth minutes went by before slumber overtook them…
Later…
Eyes opened and shut a good six times, Zevion returned to the waking world. Solera and Belsazar slept nearby.
"Guys? Wake up."
When gentle touching failed, the late Lord Mule resorted to light pinching and shaking as far as his meager strength allowed: still nothing. Yawning yet again, the Chertenokian fixed his eyes on the door leading to the next hallway.
(Translated from Russian). "[{I feel… strange. Something… something is urging me to…}]."
The imp could only watch as the door before him opened, seemingly on its own. Compelled by an uncanny force, the warrior formerly known as God of Destruction Mule quit the hallway as the door shut behind him. The scientist descended several flights of stairs, seemingly unaware that he was being trailed by a shadowy anthropomorphic draconic creature perched upside down atop a thick wooden beam.
"[So the imp's venturing deep down on his own… this ain't normal. Guy's walking weird, like he's in a trance. I have a feeling this has got something to do with Kýma Adepts. The authorities will want to know of this…]."
Zevion came across a cramped circular room at the center of the library. The Chertenokian stopped dead center before the wave of torpor swamping him washed away, allowing him to regain consciousness.
"Wha… where… where am I? What's going o—"
"I finally found you!"
Before Sorokov emerged a robust, uniformed reptilian figure.
"W-Who's there?"
The mutant snorted out loud.
"Therian Agent 0402, codename Camphor. I'll ask the questions around here, maggot. What are you doing here?"
"I… I don't know; honest. One moment I was upstairs with my compatriots, then I—"
"Whatever; we can figure it out later. Let's get you back upstairs before w—"
"That will not be necessary, Agent Camphor."
Zevion audibly gulped. Tone and demeanor oozing with insolence, Camphor turned to the sound of that voice.
"Lady Sencha…"
Exuding an unearthly serenity, the Gorugonian made the scene, followed by Gyokuro. Upon removing her cowl, the Numena addressed the Therian Agent.
"Lord Mule is under mine protection. Thou mayest leave him to mine care."
Camphor snorted.
"Not gonna happen. I have orders from Lady Chifir herself. The prisoners are to be kept together."
"Cocksure she-devil! Thou darest defy Lady Sencha!?"
"Stay back, Gyokuro. This is none of your fucking business."
"How darest thee speak to me like that!? I am thy superior and better, fell beast!"
The Therian Agent nearly scoffed.
"Oh please… unlike you, I actually worked for my power: I didn't have it handed to me by dear ol' daddy and—"
"Thou blasted churl! I—"
"Cease your brabble."
Beatific smile on her visage, Sencha waved her right hand in front of Camphor.
"Thou shalt entrust the prisoner to mine care. I shall see him returned safely."
As if possessed, the reptile responded in a monotone.
"N-No… I… I won't…"
Sencha repeated the motion.
"Thou shalt entrust the prisoner to mine care. I shall see him returned safely."
Grinding and gnashing her teeth, Camphor assumed a fighting stance.
"Y-You… fucking bitch…"
"Thou shalt entrust the prisoner to mine care. I shall see him returned safely."
In tears by now, the Therian Agent eyed the deity with pure, undiluted spite.
"I shall entrust the prisoner to you. You shall see him returned safely…"
Clutching her head as if in pain, the Therian Agent limped away.
"Sir Gyokuro… keep thee vigil outside."
One polite bow later, the legionnaire took his leave. Much to his fear, Zevion found himself alone… with her. Eyes of mercy upon him, the former Destroyer God awkwardly backed away.
"It pleases me to see thee well, milord. There is much for us to discuss."
Summoning what little valor he had left, Sorokov faced the encroaching serpent.
"[C'mon, c'mon, c'mon! Think, Zevion!]. Why?"
Side-glancing behind and everywhere, the Chertenokian frantically searched for escape routes.
"Dost thou fear me, Zevion Poliakovich?"
"Answer the question."
Saintly stare fixed on him, Sencha bid her powers to bring Sorokov to her.
"Let go of me! Let me go!"
Unable to do nothing other than watch as his own body cleared the distance, the livid former Hakaishin swallowed hard.
"You… you took advantage of me."
Eyes forlorn, the goddess languidly made to embrace the imp.
"Don't touch me! Don't fucking touch me!"
Words fallen on deaf ears, Zevion's eyes remained wide open as Sencha's lips met his own. Much to his horror, that sweet yet bitter liquid flowed into him once again.
"NO! I SAID NO!"
Coughing and spilling the substance all over himself, Sorokov managed to break free.
"I did naught but bring thee closer to the Path of Radiance. It is meet for all to yield to the Light. Like mineself, it hath chosen thee."
"Bullshit."
"Why dost thou resist? Why refuse Love Primordial, the Plenitude and Fulfillment of all Things?"
Zevion took a good forty seconds to reply.
"I'm not interested in you or anything you have to offer. It wasn't enough to kidnap my men and seize my universe: you… you raped me… you used me… USED ME!"
Still more silence. Far as Mule could tell, Sencha's expression changed little during his speech. The Chertenokian turned his back to leave, only to find himself paralyzed just like before.
"LET ME GO, YOU FUCKING BITCH! LET ME GO!"
Next thing Zevion knew, Sencha turned him around and made his eyes meet hers. Glimmering like apricot and periwinkle stars, Zevion could only lose himself in them, blinded by seemingly eternal light he could not elude…
(Translated from Yiddish). "{Zevion?}."
When Sorokov opened his eyes, he was no longer in the Forbidden Library. Music droned from nearby radios in Yiddish, Hebrew, and Russian, with the odd Georgian tune here and there.
"[This place… I've been here before… the ghetto…]."
Ramshackle buildings sprouted everywhere, like overgrown weeds. A group of children played a couple of blocks away.
"{Zevion! We're gonna be late}."
The speaker was a human girl, roughly eleven years old. Rather than a newly deposed Destroyer God, Zevion had become a child, dressed in all too familiar rags, sundry scents of cooking nearby: kugel, cholent, hamin, harisa, even couscous.
"[No… it can't be…]." (Translated from Yiddish). "{Henye?}."
"{What's the matter with you, you little meschmendrik? It's Shabbat! We're gonna be late for supper!}."
"{B-But I—}."
Grabbing Zevion, Henye darted deeper into the ghetto. It all came back to the future Lord Mule: the four flights of stairs separating the Sorokov household from the outside world, the near constant nagging of their neighbor Mrs. Haskel, unleashed more often than not against her six children. Inside the apartment, all too familiar, long forgotten smells: chicken bits, roasted and seasoned the day before, same as the challah and the cholent. Eyes trembling, Zevion recognized the male seated at the head of the table.
"{Tatti…}."
Adjusting his crocheted kippah, the elder Sorokov barely repressed a scowl.
"{Good of you to join us, little dumkopf. Do you have any idea how long we've been waiting for you?}."
The girl saw fit to intervene.
"{It's my fault, Tatti. I forgot about today and—}."
"{Not another word, Henye Poliakova. The little nar is old enough to know better. You know the rules, boy: you have to wash and dress before you eat}."
"{That's enough, Poliakov Dimanovich. He's only a child}."
A tired woman next to Poliakov had spoken.
"{Don't make excuses for him, Fedora Romanovna. I won't have this argument again}."
"{Neither will I. I'm not feeling well all of a sudden. You're free to continue without me. Come along, Zevion, Henye}."
Blinded by still more light, Mule found himself an adult once more, dressed in a khaki buttoned shirt, waist-high brown pants, and thick-rimmed, oversized glasses. It was late at night. Busied typing at a machine gun rate, the drowsy Chertenokian tuned out his surroundings, set on completing the task before him.
(Translated from Russian). "[{Tenth all-nighter in two weeks… those jerks… they think they're so smart, but I'm on to them. Сво́лочи… serves me right for trusting them. Just you wait, though: I'll make them regret everything}]."
A door opened.
"{Sorokov? You're still here? It's freaking late}."
"{I realize that. Just double-checking my calculations. Tomorrow's too important to leave it up to chance}."
"{A smart guy like you, doing all that work, and you're only an intern. We should be paying you the Chief Scientist's salary. First time the money wouldn't go to waste. Don't quote me on that one, though}."
"{Flattery will get you nowhere, Tzuneyedev. I put in a good word on your behalf, like you asked me to. That's about all I can do. Any further action could be misconstrued as ass-kissing, or something else no less unsavory}."
"{Well, when you put it like that… you want I should check those, though? Never hurts to have a second opinion}."
"{Be my guest}."
When Zevion next blinked, he found himself a good ten years older. Stare fixed on several piles of rubble, the Chertenokian beheld veritable rows of mangled, bloodied arms and legs joined by just as many heads. Eyes wandering just about everywhere, Sorokov observed as scores of people of various races and species ferried away the living and the dead, calling/weeping for missing loved ones as machines removed rubble and rescuers struggled to reach those trapped underneath.
"[{I… I did this… my fault… it's all my fault…}]."
The air grew eerily warm. A familiar presence made itself known.
"Zevion Poliakovich…"
Weeping by now, the Chertenokian tried to ignore that hated voice.
"Sencha… no… you're not doing this. I won't be judged, not by the likes of you."
"I judge thee not. I am but a steward of thy salvation."
"Salvation?"
Dolefulness upon her, the snake-haired goddess extended her hand towards the fallen Destroyer.
"The Light can purge thy sin away. Thou needest only believe."
"Me, believe? In you?"
Sencha solemnly shook her head.
"The Light seeth all, bindeth and knoweth all. Thou needest not remain bound to thy guilt and shame, Zevion Poliakovich. Take thou mine hand, and thy grievous sin will be undone."
"I…"
Trembling all over, Zevion barely caught himself extending his own hand towards the serpentine deity. Withdrawing at the very last second, the fallen Hakaishin flashed his fangs for all to see.
"Bullshit. You don't have that kind of power."
"Indeed, I do not. 'Tis the doing of the Light."
"What you did to me… was that also its doing?"
Silence. Sencha's expression and gestures remained unaltered.
"I asked you a question, milady."
"I serve the Light. I carry out its will, and so shall you and all that lives and breathes."
"LIKE HELL I WILL!"
To Zevion's astonishment, his scream literally shattered the world around him. The imp found himself back at the Forbidden Library, still depowered, clad in the kimono gifted by Masala. Again immobilized by an unseen force, the warrior once known as God of Destruction Mule could only watch as the Numena covered him in her robes, forcing his lips to meet her own. For all his efforts, Sorokov couldn't scream or fight back as his mind hopped back and forth to the ghetto, the camp, the site of the collapse, numberless other times and places…
Sometime later…
At the upper levels, Solera Al-Shedeh uneasily opened her eyes. The late Lady Jerez took a few seconds to gather her mind, then turned to her counterpart from Universe 11.
"Belsazar…"
The former Lord Vermoud didn't so much as stir.
"Belsazar… wake up."
"Eh… gimme a break, Marcarita… make yourself a sand—"
"Belsazar!"
The Tarokian literally jolted his way back to the land of the living.
"What, what happened, what!?" (Brief pause). "Solera… I was having the most wonderful dream."
"[You don't say?]. Where is Mule?"
"You don't think… did he really go off on his own?"
"We must find him. The sooner, the better."
"Solera… just think for a moment. We're weakened, totally powerless, trapped in this musty hellhole. We could get lost down there, or worse…"
"Are you suggesting we abandon him!? Zevion could be in mortal danger!"
"My point exactly."
Back on her feet, the fallen goddess tried to open the sealed door.
"It won't budge. Help me out, Belsazar."
The ex-Destroyer God from the Universe of Justice stopped himself from speaking. For all their struggles, the door didn't move an inch. Roughly ten minutes went by before the thing started to give way.
"Keep it up! Put your back into it!"
"I'm trying!"
Five more minutes; another inch. Ten… fifteen… twenty…twenty-five… thirty… door's open!
"Let's go!"
With Dolin at her heels, Solera Al-Shedeh ventured deeper into the library. Masks notwithstanding, the fusty stench grew worse the lower they went. Nearly an hour into their descent, the vanquished former deities stopped dead in their tracks: another door blocked their path.
"One more time, Belsazar."
"Let's get this over with."
No sooner did they touch the door when the air around them turned ominously warm. Solera felt dizzy; for all her efforts, she couldn't make herself utter Belsazar's name, let alone speak in any language other than Demotic.
"{I… I feel… strange…}."
Dolin himself fared no better. Having lost all command over his own mind, the warrior once known as God of Destruction Vermoud turns to his native language.
(Translated from Seychellois Creole). "{W-What's goin' on? Solera?}."
Ancient voices ambushed the pair. Though only for a moment, Al-Shedeh glimpsed a pyramidal shadow looming over the desert wind.
(Translated from Demotic). {Where are we going, Uncle?}.
{Concentrate, Solera. The enemy won't hesitate to exploit any distraction, all weakness…}.
{UNCLE, NO! WHAT ARE YOU DOING!? MOTHER!}.
Belsazar Dolin hesitantly wiped his eyes. It all came back to him: lulling waves, smells of the sea…
(Translated from Seychellois Creole). {Maman, has Papa abandoned us?}.
{Don't speak that way, my son. He'll come to us when he's ready}.
{WHY DO YOU TREAT ME LIKE THIS!? I'M YOUR SON!}.
Later still…
"Belsazar?"
Eyes half shut, the Tarokian uneasily sat back up.
"Solera? W-What happened? Last thing I remember, we were heading to that door, then I… I blacked out."
"So did I. By any chance, did you see something strange?"
Dolin swallowed hard.
"I… I saw visions, memories… from my past. I… I heard my mother's voice for the first time in eons."
"I heard several voices as well. It felt so… real, as if I was living through it all over again."
"Any idea what caused it?"
Al-Shedeh shook her head.
"We can worry about that later. Help me out."
Before the vanquished former gods stood yet another colossal doorway. Bracing themselves, Solera and Belsazar pushed against it. Surprisingly, the door opened after roughly six minutes of struggle.
"Mule!"
The pair hobbled inside just as Sorokov was waking up. It took a while for the Chertenokian to rise.
"Mule… are you alright?"
"I… I think so… how'd I get here?"
The late Lord Vermoud was not amused.
"Obviously you walked, after me and Solera told you not to."
Zevion gave the clown the stink-eye.
"I remember things quite differently. As for me walking here… I can recall bits and pieces, but I've no idea how or why."
Solera gathered her mind.
"Belsazar and I experienced strange visions just as we were opening the door. I think it's safe to assume something messed with your mind as well."
"I—"
At that instance, a humanoid figure teleported straight to the middle of the room, giving the fallen deities yet another scare. Standing a rough 2.13 meters, the intruder bore not one, but two halos around the neck. Dressed in a black iridescent tunic, what little light burned in the room was reflected on the top of the balding head, the rest occupied by flowing black hair reflecting the silence of the Void.
"Greetings, mine lords. I am Beinwell, Attendant Archangel to Lord Mate."
"Archangel?"
"Thou art not wanting audition, Belsazar Dolin. I'll not suffer repeating mineself. Now, I believe these are known to ye…"
The trio turned their attention to a pair of bodies the Archangel kept hoisted over his right shoulder. Paying little attention to the vanquished ex-gods from Universes 2, 3, and 11, the Archangel gently laid his charges upon the ground. Sparse light upon them, Dolin, Al-Shedeh, and Sorokov realized who they were.
Belsazar: "Are those…?"
Solera: "Arak!? Geene!?"
Zevion: "No… not them, too…"
Seized by wrath, the ex-Lady Jerez confronted the newcomer.
"What is the meaning of this!? What did you do to them!?"
It took much of Beinwell's self-control to repress a scoff.
"These are freshly arrived following an audience with Lord Mate himself. That is all I shall say about it. Farewell."
The Attendant warped away without a further word, leaving the vanquished warriors to their fear and trembling…
Notes:
Va chier! (French) = "Fuck you!" (Source: Reverso).
долбоёбы ("Dolbojóby," Russian) = "motherfuckers," "dumbasses," "fuckwits," "dipshits," "dickheads," etc. (Sources: Wiktionary, r/russian).
Сво́лочи ("Svolochi," Russian) = "Bastards," "motherfuckers," "assholes," etc. (Source: Wiktionary).