Mythos Of Narcissus: Reborn As An NPC In A Horror VRMMO

The battle against the Forest of Fallacy raged in full force, a chaotic symphony of war unfolding across every front of the bastion.

The nightmarish entities that emerged from the abyssal woodland fought with intelligence, twisting their elongated forms in unnatural, disjointed movements as they engaged the bastion's members in close combat. The Landship's defenses roared with calculated ferocity, turrets unloading ceaseless rounds of Theotech projectiles while drones cut through the dense forest canopy, their mechanical precision countered by the unpredictable nature of the enemy.

Yet, beyond the physical battle, there was something far worse.

It wasn't just a confrontation of strength or firepower.

It was a war of perception.

The anomalies began to manifest in waves—disruptions that defied logic, playing cruel tricks on even the most disciplined warriors.

Reports flooded the neuromorphic network.

A bastioneer, convinced she was striking down an enemy, suddenly realized she had been swinging her Prismforge at empty air—her foe had never been there. Another saw her mate standing beside her, only to blink and find that the person had been replaced by one of the towering horrors.

Hallucinations. Mirage-like distortions of reality that forced hesitation, paranoia, and doubt onto the battlefield.

In one instance, the Duolos vessels recorded a monstrous figure standing in an open field, only for the very next moment to reveal that the 'open field' had never existed—it had always been a dense wall of trees. The towering creature they had been aiming at was suddenly behind them.

A shifting battlefield. A war fought on unreliable ground.

And yet—the Heavenly Maids remained unaffected.

A stark contrast to the chaos.

The twenty figures of unflinching elegance moved through the battlefield with eerie certainty, their golden eyes untouched by the distortions plaguing the others. Where they stepped, the battlefield regained structure—no false images, no shifting landscapes. They became beacons of stability.

The bastioneers quickly adapted, using the Heavenly Maids as anchors of reality. By remaining within their presence and coordinating with them, the illusions lost their effect, and the true battlefield could be seen.

The Duolos Hive Mind, working in tandem with the Landship's Cognitive Engines, processed the growing anomalies at an inhuman speed, gathering all recorded instances of the phenomena, attempting to find patterns. Even as the Cognitive Engines themselves were affected, their collaboration with the Duolos allowed them to filter through the distortions, correcting errors in perception.

This was not an easy battle. It was an unraveling puzzle, a shifting labyrinth of deception.

And amidst the chaos, my confidantes were all engaged.

Verina and Lupina fought on the frontlines, carving through the monstrous horrors with precision and relentless aggression. Verina's crystalline musket sang through the battlefield, its orbital-linked energy blasts tearing through the Forest's twisted inhabitants alongside the forestry itself Her shots were destructive and never wasted, each one a direct counter to the creatures' regeneration. Lupina, in contrast, was a force of destruction in motion, her twin plasma-secreting wings carving through elongated limbs, her rapid, erratic movements forcing the creatures onto the defensive.

Somewhere within the Landship's core, Kuzunoha and Viviane worked tirelessly, interfacing with the neuromorphic network. The two of them were engaged in a battle of information—breaking apart the illusions through analysis, countering the distortions with sheer calculation.

And then there was Charis.

The night stretched endlessly above us, a black canvas dotted with twisted constellations, spiraling stars that burned in patterns that no human mind could truly comprehend. The sky of Carcosa had never been a comfort, nor had it ever offered any promises of stability. It was an ever-changing, breathing abyss, shifting and twisting as if it was aware of those who walked beneath it.

And now, here we stood—at the very precipice of something unnatural, something that had rewritten reality around us.

The Forest of Fallacy had turned the land into a shifting mirage of deception and treachery, and beyond its veil lurked monstrous titans, horrors that no amount of preparation could have fully anticipated.

And yet, amidst this chaos, my daughter stood unwavering.

Charis was silent, her expression a perfect mask of concentration. The glow of the battlefield's countless flickering lights reflected against her porcelain-pale skin, her golden eyes burning with an inner brilliance that contrasted with the abyss she sought to command.

Her hands did not move. They did not need to.

Instead, she commanded.

Above her, a formation of colossal hands manifested from the nothingness—not of flesh, nor of any matter that could be defined by conventional means.
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They were made of pure entropy.

Black, shifting, and writhing like oil bleeding into existence. Their forms flickered in and out of tangibility, as if they were not entirely meant to be here—as if reality itself rejected them, yet could not undo them.

Each one moved with slow, deliberate precision, curling and unfurling their immense fingers as they gathered the very essence of uncreation.

A force that was not meant to be contained.

A force that did not belong to this world, nor any world.

And yet—Charis pulled it forth anyway.

I stood beside her, my ever-present smirk lingering on my lips, yet tinged with something quieter—something more genuine.

A trace of concern.

Her body was still, her frame unshaken, but I could see the signs of strain creeping at the edges of her form. The slow, methodical way she controlled her breathing. The minute tension in her fingers.

Gathering entropy was not an act of mere willpower. It was an invitation to something beyond comprehension. A dance with nothingness itself. Of course, that was what I understood at least.

"You're doing well, my dear," I murmured, my voice smooth yet soft, cutting through the heavy hum of the Landship's distant battles. "But don't push yourself too far."

She did not respond immediately as she nodded.

Her focus was absolute.

Before her, a great mass of pure entropy churned, coiling into a sphere of absolute negation.

It was neither light nor dark. Neither hot nor cold.

It simply was—an impossibility made manifest.

Seconds stretched into moments, the weight of the unseen pressing against the world itself. And then, she exhaled.

A slow, measured breath.

"I know my limits, Father," she said evenly, her voice smooth yet laced with the faintest thread of exhaustion.

I chuckled lightly, my fingers tapping against my arm in idle amusement.

"That's precisely why I'm reminding you," I mused. "Just in case."

She did not answer, but there was a quiet ripple in the air—a subtle acknowledgment.

And then—the entropy was ready.

The floating hands shifted, their colossal fingers curling inward, offering the swirling mass of void-energy forward.

To me. I stepped forward. Reached out.

And the moment my fingers touched it—the universe screamed.

Or perhaps it was simply my mind bending under the sheer weight of the act.

A force that had never been meant to be held, never meant to be shaped.

And yet—I shaped it. All-Tampering Divine Dexterity was the key. Though, the trait did not make this easy. It did not make this painless. It simply made it possible.

The entropy resisted.

It shifted. Pulled away. Attempted to slip back into the void.

But my hands—my will—refused to let it go.

I could feel its nature warring against my own.

It wanted to dissolve.

To cease.

To return to the nothingness from which it came.

But I was not bound by the laws of this world.

My fingers moved with purpose.

Like a sculptor molding clay, I pressed, pulled, twisted, and refined.

The entropy coalesced. Compressed. Bound itself to my command.

And then—it took form.

A weapon.

A lance.

Spiraling. Twisting.

A double-helix of void and negation, a paradox given shape.

A weapon of nothingness—yet absolute.

The effort it had taken was evident now. My breath came heavier, my pulse subtly heightened from the sheer intricacy of the process.

Yet, it was done.

I turned my gaze toward Charis, lifting the lance into the air.

Her golden eyes flickered, watching the weapon with quiet intensity.

She gave a silent command.

And then, the floating hands moved.

With perfect synchronization, they seized the entropy weapon.

For a moment, they simply held it.

Testing its weight. Even though it had no mass. Even though it was a thing of void.

And then—they crushed it.

Not as destruction.

But as creation.

In an instant, the entropy dispersed. Not into oblivion, but into multiplicity.

The void-energy split apart, reforming—not into one lance, but into twenty.

Each floating hand now held a perfect replica of the entropy weapon.

A silent ripple passed through the air.

The weapons hummed with a low, unearthly resonance, their shifting black spirals glistening with anti-light.

The task was complete.

I exhaled, closing my eyes for the briefest moment, allowing the exhaustion to settle in—but the satisfaction was undeniable.

Charis let out a slow breath, her shoulders relaxing just slightly as the entropy constructs solidified in her grasp.

"...Success," she whispered.

A quiet smirk pulled at my lips.

"Well done," I murmured.

And then—her golden eyes met mine, burning with determination.

She lifted a hand, her fingers curling ever so slightly.

The colossal entropy hands—her weapons of void—shifted in unison.

And with unwavering certainty, she spoke, "Then let us strike."