The Immortal Swordsman

[Carn_Val]

My buddies would always say something about how odd the observable world's people go about with their daily routines. Some thrive to achieve greater purpose, neglecting themselves in the process, some put too much attention to themselves that they start to lose purpose while others just lose themselves and their purpose as they realize just how futile the situation they are born in. Yes, sometime later, these people will be gone from the world, just as the people centuries before them did, and the people before that too and maybe us too after a while. The idea is that something new replaces the old, the old entrusts things to the new and the new continues on and on until they become old as well. A simple cycle, yet very complicated once you notice the little things, this is the idea of progress. However, there is a very small flaw in this cycle, so small yet done so many times that it affects the cycle of progress. Once the old is replaced by the new and the old entrusts the work to the new, the new resumes what the old was doing, then the error occurs. An error of correction and the lack of it in the cycle. As the old instructs the new and entrusts the work to the new, all these do's and do not's pass on as well but somehow, the new only absorbs what the old one does and not what the old does not. This simple flaw passes on to the next one until the new one creates the mistake the old one has done as well. With such a neglected and reccuring flaw, can it still be called "progress"?

Anyways, I was just lost in thought while I'm walking back into the center of the unpigmented world, the ever changing fountain. Somehow, my legs are leading me back here, for what reason? That I do not know. As I walk past the faceless people, those I took no notice of, I start to feel cold, void and empty, like the blanket of space I was born in. Usually, such a feeling would comfort one as they recollect their memories of their youth, not in my case. Such a long time had passed since my initiation, those memories were long forgotten, not by time but by importance. These things aren't important to me, I am an Anomaly, one who exists at the present. An existance born as is, no vulnerability, no end. For as long as time moves, so does an Anomaly. Yes, an Anomaly, and a bored one at that. I try to recall the many games I learned from the Zone and try them out, one at a time.

I got bored and chose "The Word Train".
"I am an Anomaly of the Zone.
Zone is the name of my Home.
Home is where I get to rest.
Rest is a four letter word.
Word train is a boring game to play.
Play also has four letters.
Letters make up words, and ultimately, ideas.
Ideas come from a creative mind.
Mind your manners.
Manners are necessary for correct social response.
Response is...is a...~ Aw!"

Something knocks me out of my game, forcing me down as I fall unto the plain floor. I look around to see who the culprit was and give up on it when I see how many people became my suspects. I may not have found the reason I lost my balance but I did see something that catches my interests, a man with long, shrivelled hair and sporting a sword. He carries with him the eyes of the lost, like he just arrived there as well.

"He looks like someone who can help me with my mission.", I said to myself.

Before I could think of a plan to recruit him for my cause, my legs were already heading to his direction. As I close in to the left of him, I can see his eyes sweeping sideways, trying to absorb and assess as much of the situation as possible. I had no choice but to call out to him instead of sneaking in. With the most hospitable voice I can do, I wave at him with the smile of a Carnival main attraction.

"Yo ho! Hi there Mr. swordsman. I'm Carn and I was wondering if you needed anything. ", I call out to the man. The man seems to shrug his shoulder and ignore me, raising a foot forward to engage a walking stance.
"Oi, Mr. swordsman, I'm talking to you, the one with a funky hair." I casually stand in front of him and whatever destination he has in mind once I confirmed him noticing me. I stand there as still as a statue, assuming eye contact and the man returns a gaze, not at me but my general direction, as if still ignoring me. I was now close enough to smell something coming from the swordsman, well not the swordsman himself but the weapon he's carrying.
"That smell... it smells just like me. One like me. Here in this Omniverse...", I muttered to myself and somehow gave the man a reaction. Did he hear what I said? Does he know what I am? Things started to escalate quickly once he looked at me with his sharp, soul-piercing gaze, if I had one.