Conversation and planning

"How could it fail?" Zomias asked.
"They opened their strongest form before either of them grew mentally," the Carafiend sighed.
"Are you talking about someone?" a voice asked.
A shadow appeared beside his own. He realized that person had finally come.
"Yup. And you know that, right?" the Carafiend replied.
The figure walked out from the corner toward him. His face was similar to the hero's, but much more masculine. It wasn't just his face, either—his irises, his eye shape, his hair color, and his skin were all strikingly similar to the hero's.
"Oh... so, did the mission succeed?" the figure asked.
"Like you don't know," the Carafiend mocked. "It failed."
"How come?" the figure asked again.
"Don't you know how strong you are?" the Carafiend asked.
"Like you don't know me, dude," the figure replied.
"Wanna fight, huh?" the Carafiend barked.
"Calm down, Marathmel," Lord Zomias reprimanded.
"Can you tell me about your original planet?" the figure asked.
Zomias tried to recall his home world. The flames crowning his skull shifted to a deep blue and began to crystallize—a stark physical manifestation of the grief taking hold of him.
He remembered how his own ego had allowed an entity far more horrific than himself to devour his planet and his people. He had simply wanted to live alongside humans—free of conflict, free of war—by defying the rigid laws of physics. Yet, that very choice shattered his peaceful life and cost him his beloved friends.
He recounted his past to the figure, explaining that this world was now his second home.
"What was the name of your original planet?" the figure asked.
"Zolgarian-A," Zomias replied.
"You're from the main Fragthesis of Zolgarian?" the figure asked again.
Zomias nodded in response.
"How was my King able to enter this planet?" Marathmel asked. "Isn't the condition to leave a planet that one must be converted into pure information?"
"Because if you simply fly upward to the edge of the sky, you won't actually leave your planet—you'll only shift to a different Fragtheses on the same world, right?" the figure added.
"I killed every human, including my friend—the hero of planet Zolgarian. Only then was I able to defeat its Markstrom Core," Zomias replied.
The figure knew what Markstrom Cores were. A planet could not remain stable without one. Through a Markstrom Core, informational data within the world materialized into actual reality—organisms, physical laws, Fragthesis layers, and everything in between. All of it was written and compiled by the Markstrom Core. And a Markstrom Core was no inanimate object; it was a living being.
"With your power, you could create your own planet. Why don't you?" the figure asked.
"Becoming a Markstrom Core is arduous... and my heart could not bear the weight of failing to protect my creations if I do that," Zomias explained.
"If you defeated the Markstrom Core, does that mean you won't disappear existentially if this planet is devoured by that horrific entity?" Marathmel asked.
"Correct," Zomias confirmed.
"Does that mean this planet has two Markstrom Cores?" the figure asked.
"I am merely an alien to this world; I am not its second Markstrom Core," Zomias denied.
"Ah, so you just don't want to become the second Markstrom Core after me," the figure protested.
"Hah! In another time-side, you're a slacker. In this time-side, a coward," Zomias sneered. "You're just trying to flee from your role, aren't you?"
"Ah, now I understand why you kept reappearing no matter how many times I killed you in my original time-side—to the point I got depressed. You're omnipresent. You were already here before you even arrived, weren't you?" the figure verified.
The fire on Zomias's head turned blue once more, then uncrystallized. Anyone looking at his head would instantly know that the sorrow had left his mind.
He remembered the absurd circumstances of his first meeting with the figure beside him.
"I remember that. I tried to convince you back then that it was useless, because you're just like me," Zomias replied. "Stubborn."
"Tch, annoying. So, what's your plan now?" the figure pressed.
"Please forgive me," Zomias sighed.
"Plunging the younger me in this time-side into despair by killing my parents?" the figure verified. "Why apologize? I don't care about that. Just do it."
A cunning smile spread across the figure's face, revealing the sheer cruelty of his plan.
"What the hell is with that smile? It's terrifying!" Zomias shouted. "Don't tell me you want to subject your younger self to mental torture?!"
"That's correct," the figure replied coolly. "Do you feel that strong presence now?"
"A presence of two thousand presentiars?" Zomias verified. "The source is fifty kilometers away, isn't it?"
"Can you hear me, Moliac?" the figure called out toward the source of the presence.
Golden light dust coalesced in response, and a shadow projected itself five meters ahead. Moments later, a figure clad entirely in yellowish plate armor materialized. "Why do you call for me, partner of my lord?"
"Please, reveal your face. I want to see," the figure requested.
The knight's face was revealed as he lifted his helmet. His complexion was bright, radiating an unmistakable noble aura. A pair of small, scythe-shaped horns curved backward from his forehead, framing jet-black, wolfish eyes with crimson irises. Anyone who looked at him trembled under a gaze that felt like staring into the depths of hell. Silver hair framed his face, emanating a striking sense of masculinity. "I am Moliac Fermisair, from the Karasole Duchy in the Fleosh Kingdom."
"Fleosh? The demon kingdom led by Zorhala?" Zomias asked.
"Can you bring some of your demon peers to terrify the person you are guarding?" the figure requested.
"Are you sure about this?" Moliac verified.
"Of course," the figure clarified.
"Before we proceed, I overheard from your conversation earlier that you killed your own Markstrom Core before arriving on this planet?" Moliac asked Zomias.
"That is correct," Zomias confirmed.
"Your choice was spot on. Because if a planet is devoured by that horrifying creature while its Core is still active, its corruption could alter the data of other worlds," Moliac explained. "And the ability to generate new planets and the realities within them would be lost forever."
"Because that horrifying creature is merely an automated law of balance, created by the Absolute One?" the figure asked for confirmation. "Am I correct?"
"You're correct. You must obey the laws of physics," Moliac confirmed.
"If you try to forge new laws from a template, you'll end up like me," Zomias added.
"You can't defeat that horrifying creature, but you can use your power to trick it into believing your planet is normal," Moliac continued.
"By the way, how good is a Gold Vector?" Zomias asked.
"A Gold Vector? Ah... my younger sister—" the figure began.
They heard the clinking sound of clashing metal. The figure realized he had brought his nephew and his younger sister to the castle. He slowly patted his forehead, a clear sign of resignation to anyone watching him.
Their secondary shadows vanished and reappeared further down the hallway, tracing the source of the noise. The shadows repeated this leap until they slipped out of sight, and the group followed their lead.
Their breath caught in their throats as they pulled the door open, taking in the chaotic mess inside. In the middle of it all stood a kid. Silver hair framed a surprisingly gentle face, yet he radiated the unmistakable aura of a villain—an intimidation amplified by his eyes. Jet-black and fox-shaped with crimson irises, they gave the child a distinctly dangerous presence.
"Your nephew is holding a Gold Vector," Zomias noted, pointing directly at the kid.
"Wari, why did you transform into weapon form?!" the figure scolded.
"He's just a child," Moliac defended his son.
"Hah... Firm as nobles, but soft as parents," the figure grumbled. "I'll educate your son on proper etiquette myself!"