The Extra's Rise
Chapter 679: Akashic Records (1)

Chapter 679: Akashic Records (1)

Mortis Lucida.

The world shattered like glass around me.

One moment I was facing Cardinal Akasha, my daughter’s life hanging in the balance, my heart burning with desperate fury. The next, reality simply… ceased. Not darkness, not light, but something beyond the concept of either. I felt myself dissolving, my consciousness expanding beyond the confines of flesh and bone into something vast and incomprehensible.

‘Mortis Lucida,’ I realized with crystalline clarity. ‘Enlightenment through death of the self.’

The sensation was indescribable—like being torn apart and rebuilt simultaneously, every atom of my being unraveled and rewoven into patterns that mortal minds weren’t meant to perceive. I was dying and being reborn in the same instant, my limited human perspective burning away to reveal truths that existed beyond the veil of ordinary reality.

And then, suddenly, I was standing.

The library stretched before me in directions that shouldn’t exist, its impossibility making my newly-expanded consciousness reel. Shelves rose into infinity above and plunged into infinite depths below, their surfaces lined with books, scrolls, tablets, and forms of recorded knowledge that had no names in any mortal language. The architecture defied every law of physics I’d ever known—staircases that led sideways into spaces that folded back on themselves, reading alcoves that existed in seventeen dimensions simultaneously, corridors that stretched through time as well as space.

‘No,’ I corrected myself as understanding flooded through me. ‘The word “library” doesn’t do justice to this place.’

This was the Akashic Records—the cosmic repository of all knowledge, all experience, all truth that had ever existed or ever would exist. Every thought ever conceived, every discovery ever made, every secret ever hidden—all of it was here, catalogued in forms that transcended mortal comprehension.

The scale was overwhelming. I could sense the presence of infinite information pressing against my consciousness from every direction. Books containing the complete histories of civilizations that had risen and fallen before Earth’s sun had even ignited. Scrolls documenting magical theories that could reshape the fundamental forces of reality. Tablets inscribed with the true names of entities whose very existence was classified beyond mortal security clearance.

And somehow, impossibly, I could understand it all.

The enlightenment of Mortis Lucida had expanded my perception beyond human limitations, allowing me to comprehend concepts that would have driven my mortal mind to madness. I was no longer bound by the constraints of linear thinking or three-dimensional space. I existed simultaneously across multiple layers of reality, my consciousness operating on frequencies that touched the very foundation of existence itself.

“Welcome,” a voice said, and I turned to see her approaching.

If the library was beyond description, then she was beyond imagination. Her beauty wasn’t merely physical—it was conceptual, existing on levels that bypassed the eyes entirely and struck directly at the soul. Golden hair that seemed woven from captured starlight cascaded over shoulders that carried the weight of infinite responsibility. Her skin held the luminescence of newborn galaxies, while her features possessed a perfection that spoke of divine artistry rather than natural evolution.

But it was her eyes that truly marked her as something beyond mortal comprehension. Silver depths that contained the reflection of every possible future, every branching timeline, every choice that had ever been or could ever be made. Looking into those eyes was like staring into the heart of eternity itself.

‘God Akasha,’ I realized, and the knowledge hit me like a physical blow. ‘The Librarian of the Akashic Records. The keeper of all knowledge in existence.’

Her presence was overwhelming in ways that had nothing to do with physical intimidation. She radiated power that made Cardinal Akasha seem like a flickering candle before the fury of a star. This was a being who existed on the same level as the fundamental forces of reality—gravity, entropy, causality. She wasn’t just powerful; she was power itself, given form and consciousness.

And yet, somehow, she felt… approachable. Curious. As if the infinite weight of cosmic responsibility hadn’t crushed the essential spark of personality that made her unique among the divine.

“Arthur Nightingale,” she said, and hearing my name spoken in that voice sent shivers through dimensions I hadn’t known existed. “What is it that you think you need?”

The question hung in the air between us, heavy with implications I was only beginning to understand. This wasn’t a casual inquiry—it was an examination, a test of my worthiness to stand in this place and make demands of forces beyond mortal comprehension.

I considered lying, offering some noble justification for my presence here. I could have asked for power to save Luna, wisdom to defeat my enemies, knowledge to protect those I loved. All of those would have been true, in their way.

But as I stood in the presence of absolute truth, surrounded by the sum total of all knowledge that had ever existed, dishonesty felt not just wrong but impossible.

“I need a way to break out,” I said honestly, the words emerging from depths of frustration I’d been carrying for longer than I cared to admit. “I’m tired of being a pawn in other people’s games.”

Akasha’s silver eyes widened slightly, the first crack in her divine composure. “Elaborate.”

The floodgates opened, and suppressed resentment poured out. “The original Arthur Nightingale, whose memories and experiences shaped my early development. Isolde, who orchestrated my reincarnation for purposes I’m only beginning to understand. Alyssara, who’s been manipulating events from the shadows. And who knows who else.”

My voice rose with building intensity. “I’m tired of discovering that every choice I’ve made was predicted, that every victory was allowed, that every relationship has been influenced by forces beyond my knowledge. I want to be free of their manipulations. I want to make decisions that are genuinely mine, not the inevitable result of someone else’s planning.”

I looked directly into those impossible silver eyes. “I want to break through the scripts and schemes and ten-dimensional chess games. I want to be Arthur Nightingale by choice, not by design.”

Silence stretched between us, broken only by the subtle whisper of infinite knowledge organizing itself in the vast spaces around us. Akasha studied me with an intensity that felt like being examined by the concept of analysis itself.

Then, slowly, her lips curved into a smile that contained galaxies.

“Then—” she began, but the word cut off abruptly.

Something was materializing in the space between us, coalescing from the raw stuff of possibility into concrete reality. A book, appearing from nothingness with the solid weight of absolute truth.

It was utterly ordinary at first glance—a simple tome with a grey cover, unmarked by title or symbol. The kind of plain, unremarkable volume you might find in any mortal library. Its thickness suggested substantial content, but nothing about its appearance hinted at extraordinary significance.

Except for the way Akasha was staring at it.

The God of Knowledge, the being who had catalogued every secret in existence—she was looking at this simple grey book with an expression of pure, unadulterated shock.

Her silver eyes had changed, I realized with growing amazement. The steady metallic gleam was gone, replaced by an iridescent cascade of colors that shifted and swirled like oil on water. Every hue in existence seemed to dance through those divine pupils, as if she were seeing something that challenged her fundamental understanding of reality.

“Impossible,” she whispered, one hand rising to cover her mouth in a gesture that seemed almost childlike in its wonder. “In all the eons I’ve maintained these Records, in all the infinite knowledge I’ve catalogued… I’ve never seen anything like this.”

I reached out tentatively, my fingers hovering just above the grey cover. “What is it?”

“I don’t know,” Akasha admitted, and the words carried the weight of a cosmic revelation. “And I know everything.”

The moment my fingertips made contact with the book’s surface, the universe exploded into my consciousness.

Knowledge flooded through me in torrents that defied description. Not information, not data, not even wisdom in any sense I’d previously understood—this was pure comprehension that bypassed rational thought entirely.

The information carved itself into my expanded consciousness with surgical precision, creating new neural pathways that operated on principles beyond mortal neurology.

And through it all, I could sense Akasha watching me with barely contained excitement.

“You received something that transcends even my authority,” she whispered, moving closer with steps that made the infinite library tremble. “Something that exists outside the scope of the Akashic Records themselves.”

She was close enough now that I could feel the warmth radiating from her divine form, could see the countless colors still swirling through her transformed eyes. When she reached out to touch my forehead with her own, the contact sent electricity through dimensions I was still discovering.

“I need to give you something,” she said, her voice carrying undertones of wonder and gratitude. “A gift, because you’ve shown me something I never thought possible—knowledge that I don’t possess.”

Our eyes met, and I found myself falling into those iridescent depths. The colors were hypnotic, beautiful beyond description, each hue carrying its own fragment of cosmic understanding. I felt like I was being drawn into the heart of mystery itself.

And then, without warning, she kissed me.

The contact was electric, divine, transformative. Power flowed between us—not raw magical energy, but something far more subtle and profound. Understanding. Perspective. A gift of clarity that would help me navigate the impossible knowledge I’d just received.

When she pulled back, her breath was warm against my ear as she whispered, “This will help you process what you’ve learned. The knowledge you’ve gained is beyond mortal comprehension, but my gift will allow you to access it without losing yourself.”

The library around us began to dissolve, reality reasserting itself as my enlightened consciousness prepared to return to the mortal realm. Books faded into mist, shelves crumbled into starlight, and the infinite architecture of knowledge collapsed back into the realm of possibility.

“Now, it’s time for you to go,” Akasha said, raising her hand in farewell. The colors in her eyes were beginning to settle back to their original silver, but traces of the impossible rainbow still lingered. “You have work to do, Arthur Nightingale. Real work, for the first time in your existence.”

As the last traces of the Akashic Records faded around me, I saw her bow deeply—a gesture of respect from a god to a mortal that should have been impossible.

“Until we meet again,” she said, her voice already growing distant, “̴̰̈́Ḩ̴̑e̷̺̅ ̴̱̈W̵̰̒h̴̰̓o̴̰̐ ̴̰̈B̴̰̈r̴̰̈ḛ̴̈ä̴̰k̴̰̈s̴̰̈ ̴̰̈F̴̰̈ä̴̰ẗ̴̰ḛ̴̈—”

The final words were something my mind couldn’t quite process, a title or designation that existed in languages that predated human consciousness. But I felt their weight, their significance, their promise of things to come.