Soul of Searing Steel

Panda Novel

In the heart of the former Void Vortex and what was presently the Starforger Neblua, a smaller mid-sized world was developing in peace.

At the southeastern farming base of Simboa, Tank the Ultrahuman—an old, white-haired man—was holding a long metal rod and standing upon a pipeline, watching the vast greenery of the three-seasons rice field before him.

He nodded in satisfaction.

It was another bountiful year for Simboa. As the world began anew and the Steel Python acted deliberately, the development of the Ultrahuman civilization was very much smooth sailing. Soul Puppets, their once bitter enemies, appeared to have followed their pact to the latter, progressing and developing together other without deviant intentions.

“Harvest means food, and food means more children fed.”

As he held the rod that was at once a weapon and a farming tool, a smile most earnest appeared over Tank’s wrinkled face. “And with children comes future… the next generation of us Ultrahumans will definitely reach the right track to inherit the legacy of the civilization from the last era.”

Population was a vital resource for civilization. Although it was not as if every tool required human labor as artificial intelligence systems existed without human interference, population was the most vital resource in the territory of development and invention, as well as for most civilizations which had yet to advance to such levels.

Nonetheless, the archives left by Fattrovi contained complete data of the previous Simboan civilization, with Soul Puppet Technology developing profoundly in the loops that lasted thousands of years. If not for the first generation of Ultrahumans being not too well educated and having a scarce population, their generation alone could have established a smaller industrial system.

Still, even if the beginning was ever so unpleasant, their future was bright and hopeful.

“Those Soul Puppets can actually create some of the pre-apocalyptic livestock by using some ‘genetic reversion cloning’… although they wouldn’t compare to the special lifeform that the Great One had left for us, they breed much faster than those special lifeforms, and works as a daily meat source.”

After all, they were life that once grew naturally in this world. They certainly would be a better fit than a special foreign lifeform.

With that thought, the elderly man stepped off from the pipeline and stroked the many stems of the rice field before him. The expression on Tank’s face—a man who could tear metals apart and move at supersonic speed—appeared as tentative as if he was touching the future, before he eventually gulped and quietly said, “Ten years ago, I’d never have imagined all this…”

Simboa was two different worlds now and ten years before—when Fattrovi still reigned.

After Joshua had introduced climate change, acceleration of the world’s restoration of Order and special lifeforms that restored ecosystems, all of Simboa was no longer its previous barren state. Presently lush with life, it was a massive world of grasslands and rainforests, with Soul Puppets and the Ultrahuman civilization both occupying and developing land two different sides of the world. Even if their collaboration was not tight, there was no excessive machinations, and both sides progressed hand-in-hand to forge a bright future.

Being one of the elders of Ultrahuman civilization, Tank could have secured a lofty place in the government New Simboa. Even so, he admitted to his age and stubborn mindset which would never have led everyone in progressiveness, and hence declined the invitation. Now, most of the ranking officials were Tank’s old party members, who in turn gifted him a fine plantation zone to the southeast where Tank could take it easy and enjoy a life he loved.

The old late bloomer should never have demanded a high position in the first place. It may a laziness, just as it could be wisdom.

Boom.

Thunders echoed over the skies.

Sensing the ever-oppressive presence and the lightning which flickered over the skies, Tank came out of his reverie and looked up towards the skies. “Again?” He muttered perplexedly. “Wasn’t it raining just the other day? Are the people at weather control mistaken or something? Too much water floods the crops…”

Tank could not stand the very thought of losses. He would return to the plantation base now and ask on comms about what was happening.

However, the old man stopped halfway through, his gaze becoming lost.

With rolling, deafening thunder and pouring rain, Tank appeared to have hearda voice from the distance in the quietness in between…and a call.

***

The Void Vortex had not formed by chance. It was a curious dimensional structure gathering the Steel Shards that had spread following the decimation of worlds, and while most were excesses absorbed by the Vortex of Creation in the Abyss, it did not stop the Void Vortex from gathering it as well, absorbing everything in the Void.

“What is…this feeling?’

Tank, whose feet were as hard as steel suddenly fell to his knees as if his legs were normal, panting heavily with an obscure gaze at something remarkably distant. His hands were clenching on his metal rod, barely holding on and keeling over.

The old man felt as if something was being born in the depths of his spirit. It was no one other than himself: a new him that would be freed from his aging form and the outdated mindset so that he could return to a time when he was at his peak.

He seemed to have seen an illusion—a man whose entire body was engulfed in golden light. Young and powerful, his word was absolute, and it was he who stood upon the top of the spiral tower and looked out over upon the world.

“…Was that really me?”

The old man could not summon the will to resist, just as the depths of his mind could not fight back. Indeed, none would ever deny their own ideas because it was simply an idea, for such notions were as fleeting as they were chaotic. Anyone could have fantasies of killing someone they hated or changing some flaw about themselves, but even if thoughts that one felt revolted of flashed in the depths of one’s spirit like a phantom and spread in the mind without restraint, those remained fantasies that would not have existed if not brought into action.

Normal people would never have resisted such thoughts that vanished as soon as they appeared, just as they could not have resisted their new selfs that were grown and born in the depths of their own spirit.

After all, who in Simboa had never dreamt about the greatest one who sat in his throne on top of the spiral tower, looking down upon the world?

The fantasy once occurred as a flash in Tank’s mind, and now, that thought was spreading and enlarging.

“No!”

Even so, whether it had been a sense of danger deep in his self or a moment of lucidity in that trance, Tank suddenly clenched both fists and yelled, “I will never be another oppressor!”

“Even if I die of old age in my fields, I will never become the next Fattrovi!”

Struggling to get up with all his strength, Tank arrived at his own office in the farm base and used his last bit of strength to turn on a comms channel…before simply fainting in front of it.

***

Tank felt as if he had seen many things when he was unconscious.

He saw the mutual slaughter of beasts: the wolfpack which hunted deer in the forests, bears and tigers fighting to the death in wintry forests. He could see swarming ants that assaulted all life they saw.

He saw superior magical creatures invoking wind and rain and ruling the forests, as well as celestial behemoths that roamed worlds like floating continents. He saw ancient dragons of Steel molding the world with their own power, breathing life into ecosystems and creating everything once again.

In fact, he saw a great many things: from the smallest of bacteria to behemoths that transcended worlds, he saw roaming behemoths that fed upon worlds, and knew that the darkness was the Void even if he had never been there, along with the Ether Drake that hunted for food in the nebulae…such profound forces brimming with life and vigor flashed through the old man’s head.

That was me.

A life…free and eternal, whimsical and unbound.

There was a nameless hope that grew in the old man’s mind… he began to yearn and hope for such a life, a free existence without responsibilities—days he did not have to be in charge over someone else while embodying expectations.

It seems like becoming Fattrovi or an oppressor was not actually so unacceptable. As long as he was happy, everything else mattered not.

Eternal freedom and whimsical desires were instincts of all life that could never be eliminated. Born naturally into the instincts of all life, it was the combination of many instincts including survival, procreation, feeding, and curiosity—it was the source of desires as much as it was the motivation of progress.

Still, that was merely the drive of being alive.

“Wake up, leader. Wake up!”

However, when such expectations grew in his heart, he suddenly heard a sobbing call. “Wake up… no, don’t die…”

Opening his eyes rather indignantly, Tank stared lasers in front of himself.

It was a white-haired girl who had recently reached adulthood, having long, smooth hair that emanated a gentle radiance. Her codename being Iron Wall, she was once protected by Tank as if she was his daughter in his party. Now, however, she was the one transferring her power to resuscitate him from his fainted state.

Likewise, Tank, who had given her the best resources and groomed her in kindness in hopes that she would grow to become better than himself, realized that his past fatherly warmth towards Iron Wall… was gone entirely.

Because… it was unnecessary.

Superior beings had no need for progeny and reproduction. While able to, it was unnecessary, for they could live on by themselves since they would obtain freedom by living on their own.

That was why superior beings needed no company, no descendants and no excesses. They did not need help in bringing about physical completeness, to be completely freed from the instincts to survive, feed, or breed—they were enlightened individuals.

I…could become that individual.

There was an annoyance growing in his lagging thoughts. He found everything around him meaningless, whether it was the delightful cheer as Iron Wall and his former party members saw him regain consciousness, the healers’ puzzled mutterings, or a Soul Puppet’s mechanical reporting as it aided in recovery.

I don’t need any of you to live well…don’t come near me or touch me in any way!

Where it had been a reflex or if he had been truly thinking that, Tank really wanted to scold the frivolous people around him and have them scamper away. However, his body was heating up and lethargic, unable to speak—the old man could only allow Iron Wall to embrace him tightly as her wet tears dripped over his back.

“Be careful, Miss Iron Wall. Mister Tank might have been infected with a special sickness…his physical symptoms are unusual: sudden fever and organ mutations. Now that he has come to, it is best that you and the rest leave due to possible infection.”

The healer’s voice spoke from another corner with a cautiousness that showed some fear, which somehow made Tank feel fleetingly pleased.

“Yes, leave me… the further the better…I don’t need others to care for me, don’t come close…”

Could that have been his instincts or his true thoughts?

Either way, Tank could not examine that now, as his rational and instincts were jumbled. His thoughts were murky and without distinct layers, regressing to simplicity—an anomaly was occurring in Tank.

It is the chief purpose for intelligent beings to fulfill their desires.

He fainted once more, but he did not completely lose consciousness this time as his sharp senses observed everything around him.

Several familiar and unacquainted voices spoke again.

“…isolate him. His body is acting weird and we can’t tell what it is…it might be the worst news.”

“Yes, that’s right. We can’t treat it at all—the Soul Puppets are sending units who are saying they need to dissect it to uncover the truth. We are sure that Tank would be fine since it’s not lethal and a treatment, but no Ultrahuman would allow Soul Puppets to cut their own brethren apart anymore!”

“Tank’s powers are growing. It could be an anomaly as his powers developed.”

“But what if it’s a sickness? Don’t forget that Ultrahuman powers strengthen exponentially before death…and, well, Tank is old…”

“In reality, this is assuredly an infectious disease. Ultrahumans presently known to have had contact with Tank are exhibiting the same symptoms on a varying scale—truth be told, this is a crisis. We simply have not found out how the sickness transmits, and I emphasize on quarantine procedures to keep the uninfected apart from suspected infected. Anything else can be considered only after the safety of the latter is ensured.”

That was the most normal, rational idea and suggestion. Given that there was no clear cause, quarantine was the simplest and most effective measure, not to mention that the Ultrahumans were individual military powers who could live well without relying on others.

The healers debated. They were not specialized medical personnel but Ultrahumans whose ability leaned towards healing, and had hence receive partial medical training—that was why everyone’s opinions differed and they could not reach a consensus.

Such are individuals who could never understand each other…

Despite being in deep slumber, Tank was smiling mysteriously, faintly discerning a common ground between himself and the Ultrahumans—they had little freedom and whim, while he would soon become freedom and whim incarnate.

They were perhaps right. It was the ultimate evolution for Extraordinary individuals and Ultrahumans, ascending their vulnerable and ignorant self to become an independent superior being.

Such was the Truth.