Demon Lord Shapeshifting System

Harker's eyes widened as he looked at the teenage boy.

"You're Alan Robock." He muttered in awe.

Sure, this wasn't the first time that he had encountered an immortal before. His girlfriend was literally a mermaid hundreds of years older than he was, and yet looked younger than he was. But when he heard that Alan Robock was one of the scientists, he thought he was just as old as Yakov Perelman and Arthur Holmwood.

Well, he was marked after all. Perhaps that gave him the ability to get younger.

"No, I did not get younger, if that is what you're guessing. You have a colleague who was also studying in college as a minor, correct?" Alan said. "How is it that you are surprised, then? I am no different from her."

Harker did not like that this man could easily read his mind, but he needed answers anyway. So he must know the reason why he was here.

"Yes, but I prefer to talk about it over some tea. And I do not read minds."

Harker scoffed. "Pfft, yeah right—"

"'There's no way in hell that you couldn't guess what I'm thinking. Look at what you're doing right now?' That is what you're going to say." Alan said. 

Harker closed his mouth.

"And you will realize it now. I do not read minds, I did not get younger. I can see into the future. And I did not age after receiving this gift."

Harker furrowed his brows, and went inside. "Let's have that tea."

Alan smiled, and closed the door behind him. The house was full of cobwebs. There was not a single place that wasn't. But even though the room was quite small…..

It felt infinitely large, like it kept on expanding the longer you looked at it. 

Harker sat on the only sofa that wasn't covered in webs. It instead had scorched marks, and Harker couldn't help but smile bitterly at this.

"So what? You have been marked by the Weaver, the Burning Lady, the Infinite Space, and…. Those people outside looked like a manifestation of Loss." Harker guessed. "Four out of nine. Impressive."

"Mainly the Weaver, but yes. I had my encounters with the others you mentioned, and they have stained me." Alan said, preparing the tea. "Aren't you the same?"

He used fine china where a teensy little spider came out of, and Harker watched it skitter into a small hole by the walls. 

"Mn. So far, it's the Beast, some monsters of the Loss, the Imposter, and…. I think the Lord of Madness tried to attack me, and the Weaver intervened. Your friend Arthur was of the Infinite Space, the Vertigo. I have also been following the trail of the followers of the Darkness, or perhaps, my skills were of the Darkness."

He sighed. "But I am sure you know all that. I suppose the only ones I haven't encountered directly were those marked with the Burning Lady and the Hunter."

Alan wore a smile across his bored face. "You will soon enough."

Harker scoffed. "And of course you know where all this was headed, right? How I will end, how the world will end…. Or are you like Yan? Knowing that the future was not a straight line, that it could still change—"

"Yes. It is not a straight line. It is a fabric where many threads connect, and it is still being woven. I can see the direction of the weaving, and can see the possibilities. But unlike your Eye friend, I do not just see. I know the result. I am being spoken to by the Weaver as its hands move across the loom."

"And I suppose your Weaver wouldn't want to help me, eh?" Harker sneered. "Since they don't really like working together compared to working against each other."

"My Weaver does not work 'against' anyone, Hero." Alan said, turning around with two cups in hand. He still wore barely any expression on his face. "It weaves what is best for the world, even if its actions are incomprehensible to mortal minds. They will question the point of certain outcomes, complain about its unfairness simply because it does not work in their favor."

"But justice is not real, true justice, that is. Only the satisfaction of certain individuals." He smiled. "One's Happy Ending is someone's Bad Ending. And one's reality is simply another lie."

Harker did not like this man one bit, but he doesn't disagree with his words. He knew that going to Alan was a mistake, something completely unrelated to the outcome he wanted to achieve. Which was to stop the Imposter, gain the Orb, and learn the truth. The actual truth.

But how can he achieve that from someone who believes there is no 'truth'? No justice, no karma, no purpose to life. Nothing.

For all he knew, his words also applied to him. His 'reality' of no reality was also a lie, making it a paradox.

"Good. I knew you would understand it soon enough." Alan sipped his tea. "Many see you as an idiot, Harker Jones. A retard, a moron… All the same thing. Simply because you do not behave the way they want you to behave. Who was to blame? You, or the one who weaves your character? Or…."

"Was it actually the prying, mocking eyes who are too blind to see into your perspective? That they are not you and you are not them."

"The audience." Harker sighed, remembering Legion's words. 

"Yes, Legion was in a way, a manifestation of the Weaver. At least in their final moments. The collective memories of every single person that the black worms consumed, the collective consciousness… It is of woven fabric."

Harker pondered over this. Was the existence of an audience enough reason for him to not want to continue this path? To be a spectacle was the same as being treated as nothing but a story character.

More than the question of free will due to The Weaver's actions, he was more conflicted about being watched and judged by some outsider he didn't know. 

So what if his will was his own or not? As long as he thinks it is, then it is, and that's what mattered. But to have some person watch him and argue that it isn't in their heads, without him knowing, to have the power to know truths he did not know, the past and the future…

He hated it. Even more horrible than a life as a simulation was a life as a simulation where you are being observed for entertainment.

It makes him feel so small. So insignificant compared to these giant eyes that watch his demise.

"You see now how it connects to the Infinite Space as well? This feeling of hopeless insignificance….. Leading to a feeling of Loss of freedom, of grief over one's own fate. Thus the desire for Destruction, whether to yourself or others. May the world just burn and perish if the watchers control everything, if the only purpose of life is to be one cruel joke."

Harker couldn't take it anymore. The dread sinked into him unlike the others so far. He had always thought that he would not be scared of the Weaver, after all, it had not been outright villainous to him...

But this was much more frightening than that. 

He gripped the scorched chair. Nothing really matters, since the beginning and since the end. He was given a role to play, like everyone else, and his only purpose was to perform that role as per the audience's indulgences and biases. 

Is that a life worth living at all?

Especially since the future was uncertain, and he could very well be performing a tragic role. Fighting again and again, feeling pleasures and pains and joys and sorrows only for a terrible end. An inevitable fate where the aftermath was only claps of applause or boos of a crowd.

What if he just ended it right now? Was that what the Weaver had intended?

For him to learn about this truth, thus leading to his anticlimactic end. And for what? So he would no longer suffer under the gaze of those mocking audiences?

Or was it simply because the Weaver was tired of him, and would rather weave the fate of somebody else?

How more insignificant could he get than that? Any moment, if the Weaver choses it, he will perish, and so will his world. 

Was there anyone even watching at all? Or was it simply all an illusion, a way to keep him dreading like this? What if the Weaver was only weaving for itself? Or what if it was controlled by another Weaver, then another, then another?

All of them feel just as insignificant from the thought. Having no purpose but to be puppeted by some force, and then abandoned once it was done with them. Their thread cut off once the audience no longer found them enjoyable. What's the point what's the point what's the point what's the point what's the point what's the point—

"Hush now. It had all just been a dream." He heard a voice said. "You are not insignificant. You must keep going. Keep going no matter what, even if it is pointless."

Harker closed his eyes, sinking into the void that was his true home. This emptiness that was comforting because in there, there was no need for a purpose.

There was nothing.