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

The spire loomed as silent as ever, its walls and conduits now thrumming faintly with the essence of humanity that had scoured its many levels throughout the day.

This human touch—footsteps, the scent of sweat, the faint traces of existential essence left behind by bastioneers and Duolos alike—rendered the spire temporarily inhospitable to Calamity Objects as their spawning points.

Then again, I had already sensed that there was something emanating throughout the whole Theotech Vault that acted the same way as the essence of existence that we scattered around when we left our footsteps on this Carcosa.

With this space free of immediate danger, I decided it was the perfect time to explore some mysteries of my own.

"If I think about it, wouldn't Theotech Site would always be a perfect location for a bastion and citadel to settle in?"

I carried with me the ascended prototype of the Vitae Arboris, its form faintly pulsing in the dim light of the spire's corridors.

It was warm to the touch, like a living heart encased in leaves of Theotech alloy. Every now and then, the bulbous core of the plant seemed to shiver, as though anticipating the transformation I had planned for it.

Though, that was most likely because it was a Cognitive Engine, the one that was connected to the neuromorphic network of the Landship where they share and cover new information together.

"Don't forget to record every bit of information for what is going to happen to you, alright?"

Reaching the chamber of the Celestial Forge, I stepped inside.

The room hummed with an ever-present energy that seemed to bypass the ears and settle directly into the mind. Its crystalline surfaces flowing like frozen rivers and its conduits pulsating with golden streams of unknown energy.

I placed the Vitae Arboris prototype onto the forge's central pedestal, its bio-organic form seeming to quiver slightly as if in nervous anticipation.

The moment it made contact, the Celestial Forge activated.

At first, an experiment was conducted in which a plant was placed a subject for an evolution under the influence of the Celestial Forge.

The Celestial Forge didn't react at the slightest.

But this time, the plant that I placed on the pedestal did not entirely consist of bio-material. Not to mention, it was also a Cognitive Engine.

"This should finally work."

Golden streams of energy surged upward from the pedestal, wrapping around the Vitae Arboris in intricate patterns.

Once again, per report of the after-team of the expedition that scoured the rest of the spire, the Celestial Forge didn't only work on its subject—unraveled it, dissecting its essence and rebuilding it in ways beyond my comprehension.

The hum of the forge rose to a crescendo, and for a moment, the plant vanished entirely, consumed in a torrent of light.

When the light finally dimmed, the Vitae Arboris stood transformed.

Its stem had thickened into a trunk-like structure, its surface now a seamless blend of crystalline alloy and bio-organic matter. The leaf-like panels had elongated and become sharper, almost blade-like, and their veins glowed faintly with streams of shifting colors.

At its core, the bulb-shaped cavity had expanded into something resembling a flower—a luminous, multi-petaled structure with a radiant sphere of energy at its center, pulsing gently like a second heart.

The Vitae Arboris became much more alive in a way that felt almost sentient, its presence resonating with an intelligence that hadn't been there before.

The Celestial Forge had taken my creation and elevated it to something entirely new.

"... Can you bear some of your fruits for me?"

As if heeding to my command, the Vitae Arboris pulsated in color before constructing its fruit like a 3D printer forging material in place with laser-sharp accuracy.

The process only took 5 seconds. When it was done, the luminescent bulb-like fruit stayed afloat and slowly spinning above the Vitae Arboris like some sort of a magical relic.

Followed by the birth of this fruit, was the Vitae Arboris chirping a faint hum, like that of a gentle creature inviting me to a moment of rest.

"Thank you~"

I took the luminous fruit and took a bite on its flesh.

"Hmm~!"

The taste was similar to the one it produced before it was evolved by the Celestial Forge, but two times sharper yet not as overwhelming as I anticipated, as if it was adapting to my palate.

Likewise, its property to give a mini-ascension to those who consume its fruit was still there, but in a greater length than before.

"It is delicious."

The Vitae Arbors reacted to my expression, as if it was just as happy as I was when consuming it.

I really shouldn't get any more godly, so it might be wise to not eat much of this.

Or maybe I could just make the Vitae Arboris produce a fruit that didn't have the mini-ascension effect?

As such, I did it as I made it in my mind. When I ordered the Vitae Arboris to create another fruit but with some restriction this time around, it did it again without hesitation.

I took another hefty bite.

"I see, so I can also do that,"

As expected, the Vitae Arboris seemed to be capable of managing the extent of effect that its fruit could bear.

Likewise, I thanked her once again.

It appeared to have an increase in efficiency when it was in a good mood.

Because the Vitae Arboris was still a Cognitive Engine, it could connect with the neuromorphic network of the Landship. And as of now, it appeared to be synchronizing with the whole interconnected system without any problem.

My personal MSU reported that the integration of the Vitae Arboris resulted in a notable incremental increase on the efficiency of the data sharing by 5%. It was unsure if this was really the cause of the Vitae Arboris, but an increase was still an increase.

I wonder If I made more than ten Vitae Arboris integrate with the neuromorphic network, would the effect also stack?

"Heuheuhe, that can be an interesting thing to try."

Having no immediate threat or task, I decided to take a walk through the spire.

A rare moment to immerse myself in its labyrinthine structure without the pressing urgency of an ongoing expedition.

Thanks to my control of the spire's psychic nexus, I could rearrange its floors at will, forming the shortest route to my chosen destination.

And for this particular walk, my destination was something… unusual.

The 101st floor.

There were only supposed to be 100 floors in the spire. Logically, it made no sense for a 101st floor to exist.

But during my initial interface with the psychic control nexus, I had uncovered its existence—a floor without physical form, an imaginary place embedded into the spire's design like a dream woven into stone.

Kuzunoha, upon hearing of it, had explained that such phenomena weren't unheard of in Theotech sites, though she herself had never accessed one. The nexus refused her attempts to gain control, and even I couldn't bring anyone with me due to the nature of the place.

So I would go alone.

The first step to reaching the 101st floor was to walk into a wall—quite literally. I approached the designated spot, where the smooth surface of the spire's interior gleamed faintly. Without hesitation, I stepped forward, the solid wall rippling as if made of liquid.

The moment I passed through, everything changed.

The air vanished. Or perhaps it didn't—it was hard to tell, as my lungs filled with something that wasn't air but still seemed to function the same way.

My senses warped. The texture of the ground beneath my feet dissolved, replaced by the sensation of walking on… nothing.

Each step felt like falling, yet I never stopped moving forward. My body floated, weightless, yet simultaneously felt as heavy as the spire itself.

The space around me twisted and folded, shapes forming and dissolving in an endless kaleidoscope of color and darkness.

The sounds were maddening—a symphony of whispers and screams, growing louder and softer in an erratic rhythm that had no pattern.

The smell of something metallic mixed with the sweet aroma of flowers that shouldn't exist filled my senses, as if the realm itself were trying to imprint its essence onto me.

I felt like I was drowning, yet I could breathe. Flying, yet I was rooted in place. My own thoughts seemed to echo back at me, warped and distorted, as if I were speaking to myself from a thousand miles away. It was chaos. It was order. It was something in between.

And then, suddenly, I was there.

The 101st floor was an endless expanse of open sea—or something like it. The water was clear yet mirrored the sky above, creating an infinite reflection of itself. But the sky wasn't a sky at all; it was an upside-down ocean, as if the entire world had been flipped on its head.

Space overlapped itself in impossible ways, the horizon bending into spirals that spun endlessly without ever reaching a center. Time itself felt wrong, flowing backward yet going nowhere, looping endlessly without ever completing a cycle, or ever advancing its progression.

I stood at the edge of this paradoxical expanse, feeling both insignificant and central to its existence.

There was no sound but the faint, rhythmic pulse of the sea, like a heartbeat echoing through the void. It was a place that shouldn't exist, yet it did—an imaginary place made real by the incomprehensible design of the spire.

I tried to make sense of it, to uncover its purpose, but the more I thought, the less I understood.

The floor defied comprehension, its very existence a riddle without an answer. And yet, I couldn't shake the feeling that it was important. Vital, even. But why? For what purpose? And how?

No answers came. Just the endless, looping sea.

After what felt like an eternity—or perhaps only a moment—I decided to leave.

The process of returning to the physical realm was just as bizarre as entering. I stepped forward, and the sea dissolved into threads of light, the air thickened into a liquid that I moved through as though swimming, and my own body felt like it was unraveling and reassembling simultaneously.
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When I finally emerged back into the spire's physical interior, I was disoriented but intact. The familiar hum of the spire's conduits was a welcome grounding presence after the surreal experience of the 101st floor.

Bending the space to create a spatial portal, I made my way back to the Landship, the Vitae Arboris still cradled safely in my arms.

But as soon as I stepped aboard, I was met with a blur of silver hair and a tight embrace.

"Father!" Charis cried, her voice cracking with a mixture of relief and distress. "Where were you? You've been gone for twelve hours!"

Twelve hours?

I froze, my mind reeling. It hadn't felt like that long—certainly not on the 101st floor. But as I looked down at Charis, her tear-streaked face buried against me, the weight of my absence hit me.

"I'm here now," I said softly, wrapping an arm around her as she clung to me. "I'm here."