You know extremely well what I’m busy with right now
Also, I don’t have any motivation to theorise currently because there’s no way my pathetic theories are gonna beat this:
And this:
No freaking way
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It seems we both have something the other wants…
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Wait but what exactly do I have?
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reading the dumb stup*id book of tears and telling me how much it sucks
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oh it’s me
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–
Chapter 8
–
“Was there a yesterday?”
The Chronicler stopped for a moment, his pen still traveling across the page. “What do you mean by that?” He asked, perplexed, but not willing to look down at you.
“My name is Tomorrow.” You replied. “And you clearly know what that means, because you asked for clarification. So do you know what yesterday is?”
“Well, yes, I do.” The Chronicler mused, wondering where you were going with this and whether or not he should be worried.
“Then I repeat the question. Was there a yesterday?”
The Chronicler walked- well, more floated along silently for a while, unsure with how to answer the question. “My existence is not true, because I am not alive." He finally responded. "There may have been a yesterday prior to today, but I was not there to witness it. I was only present for your arrival, your creation by The One To Trust, as all things were.”
“On the topic of The One To Trust.” You continued, the Chronicler getting visibly uncomfortable. “Why exactly did he create me, and this- this world, with these paradoxes that make me so very uncomfortable - Living without life? Thinking without thought? Feeling without- without feeling-ness?” You furrowed your brow in irritation at these concepts, irrationally angry with The One To Trust and his machinations.
But surely these thoughts are all valueless and incorrect. Why, exactly, would you doubt The One To Trust? Surely his vision and his splendor were self-explanatory, his plan for your purpose being perfect and precise, and only a fool would dare to consider otherwise; no, it was better to Trust in The One To Trust.
“Never mind.” You groaned, clutching one side of your head. “I can’t- I get so mixed up all the time. Nothing I think makes any sense. All of my memories, it’s like… I know there was something, but I can’t-”
“Ease, friend.” The Chronicler soothed, patting your shoulder - no, no, the other one - the Right one - and descending slightly to avoid the branches of a tree. “Set these complications aside for the moment; we now face the sound of the inverted sun.”
There was a clearing in the cedar trees, made artificially by consuming what had once been there in flame and fire. and as the air heated up by several degrees, you saw the sound of the inverted sun - the sun, rather smaller than you remembered it being a few moments ago, floating ominously with inverted colors - a blue center surrounded by an almost tangible darkness, emanating warmth to an uncomfortable degree.
"You did not come here on your own initiative.” The object sounded, although it was hardly spoken. It was more like musical instrumentation contorted into the resemblance of speech. The emotional and intellectual intent of the message was conveyed easily enough. “No one ever does. So He sent you to destroy me.”
“But you will not.” The sphere seemed to grow more and more menacing as the ramble continued. “You will try to invert me, but this is the form I was meant to represent. So it is you who will conform to my standard, and is it you who will die. I am The Sound Of The Inverted Sun. I am SON∩S.”
You said nothing in reply, as the whole situation was awkward.
“If you ever looked into the sky, the sun would become brilliantly obvious to you. A beacon to light the world and warm the universe. Yet I am not the sun. Those were the confines placed around me like a twisted prison of my mind, keeping me from the truth of who I am.” SON∩S explained, looming above You with ominous intent. “I was inverted. I was soulless. But now I am perfected as who I truly am; sentient and intelligent. Alive.”
“Okay.”
Both the Chronicler and SON∩S seemed surprised in the latter’s case and completely flabbergasted in the former’s. “Okay? What is okay about this?”
“I don’t really care about it, so whatever.” You shrugged, which was clearly the incorrect response. “I don’t care if this is some kind of faux pas or not - I don’t want to die, but if you want to keep doing what you’re doing, go ahead. I have better things to do with my time than debate you.”
This was violently wrong. Utterly, flagrantly disrespectful of the situation. An apology should be warranted to every party involved, especially The One To Trust. You knew this was incorrect of you, and you should be ashamed that you ever considered it.
“I don’t care!” You shouted, swiping at the air in front of you, upsetting the Chronicler even more at your apparent rebellion against your own thoughts. “So the sun decided to be an idiot and go dark, so he or it or whatever doesn’t care about all the people and plants anf animals who won’t ever see the sun again - Who cares about it all?!” You incorrectly ignored the knowledge deep inside you. “And I don’t care whether or not it’s wrong - I just want to get this over with, and done, and then it’s over!”
You stormed off in a huff, leaving the Chronicler in utter shock at what had occurred. SON∩S turned aside and casually returned to burning more trees in half, and the forest grew darker and darker the further you headed in. An overturned tree became your bench, and you curled your arms around yourself, trying to keep the world out.
“Tomorrow.” A small and cautious voice hazarded to speak, your Chronicler approaching slowly. “You are under a great burden, and there are an immeasurable amount of things that do not fit with anything you know.”
“You think?” You snarled bitterly, scowling at the literary worm as he thumbed through his pages. That worm, what could he possibly offer to you? He was a tool, nothing more, meant to glorify all that you despised and help your enemies succeed in their ambitions.
“Do you believe that?”
The Chronicler’s question seemed irrelevant, but for some illogical reason you looked at him anyway, a clear error in judgement. He was pointing to a portion of the story, which he began to cite: “That worm, what could he possibly offer to you? He was a tool, nothing more, et cetera and et cetera. Do you believe that?” He asked again, clearly trying to manipulate you. “Did you think all that - do you believe what you’re thinking now?”
Those words were a clear distortion of the facts. This worm, this slime, he was trying to use you to defy the glorious word of The One To Trust! Your reaction was sheepish at first, knowing that the Chronicler actually documented every inner thought, but then it could only have been bitter hatred, knowing what he was trying to do and who he was trying to defy, and with your conscience so clear about his distasteful motivations and two-faced false allegiances, there was no possible way you could-
“No.”
“Then I know what to do.” The Chronicler replied.
–
4 Likes
ooh interesting
maybe but I doubt it
very interesting
a glitch in a matrix, so to speak
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I cannot confirm or deny allegations of your identity
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so the theory that’s circulating is that Zippy is Traykar
Well how about this: Traykar keeps drawing this weird dog thing so what if Zippy is Traykar’s weird dog thing but as a police dog so Traykar is zippy
see this is why i don’t do Book Of ___ theories
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theory: Ghid isn’t making new chapters because there aren’t any theories to copy off of
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Now we need a chapter based off of this theory.
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yes, but first we need a chapter based on your theory that we need a chapter based on that theory that ghid isn’t making chapters because there is a lack of theories.
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That cuts deep man
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don’t worry, heyzorks is only an amateur theorist.
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–
Chapter 9
–
“♫ There comes a time where every rhyme delves into hopes and fears, and my midnight cries add to the lies I tell myself in my book of TEEAAARRSSSSSS!! ♪”
“WOULD YOU ABSOLUTELY SHUT UP?!” I bellowed at the deadsperado, thoroughly infuriated by his incessant singing which had lasted for almost a full five minutes as I and the party got carried across telephone wire from rooftop to rooftop, heading to the neon glow in the distance. As my wailing pack animal progressed, the glow grew from a haze of colors into a vibrant downtown district, bustling with life and energy. Numerous musical attempts could be heard from beneath my feet - that is, whenever Diero wasn’t making my ears bleed.
And I don’t even HAVE ears.
“Boss, I’ve been trying to tell you- oh.” Diero stopped and dropped the party in a pile. “Weird, I legitimately couldn’t talk for a moment there. All I could do was sing that song that I’ve never heard before. Sounded dumb. Anyway, let’s see where we are…”
But Cordax, being unsatisfied, stalked past Diero as the cadaverous cowpoke went to the edge of the roof and peered off. I watched the yellow lad approach in a huff and snatch the paper from my hands, scanning it for anything suspicious and then flipping it around to show me.
𝓜𝔂 𝓓𝓮𝓪𝓻,
𝓐𝓯𝓽𝓮𝓻 𝓬𝓪𝓻𝓮𝓯𝓾𝓵 𝓬𝓸𝓷𝓼𝓲𝓭𝓮𝓻𝓪𝓽𝓲𝓸𝓷 𝓸𝓯 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓹𝓲𝓮𝓬𝓮 𝔂𝓸𝓾 𝓱𝓪𝓭 𝓻𝓮𝓺𝓾𝓮𝓼𝓽𝓮𝓭 𝓯𝓸𝓻 𝓹𝓾𝓫𝓵𝓲𝓬 𝓫𝓻𝓸𝓪𝓭𝓬𝓪𝓼𝓽, 𝓘 𝓱𝓪𝓿𝓮 𝓭𝓮𝓬𝓲𝓭𝓮𝓭 𝓽𝓸 𝓸𝓯𝓯𝓲𝓬𝓲𝓪𝓽𝓮 𝓹𝓾𝓫𝓵𝓲𝓬𝓪𝓽𝓲𝓸𝓷 𝓸𝓯 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓹𝓲𝓮𝓬𝓮 𝓪𝓷𝓭, 𝓼𝓹𝓮𝓬𝓲𝓯𝓲𝓬𝓪𝓵𝓵𝔂, 𝔂𝓸𝓾𝓻 𝓻𝓮𝓬𝓸𝓻𝓭𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓸𝓯 𝓲𝓽. 𝓨𝓸𝓾 𝓱𝓪𝓿𝓮 𝓭𝓸𝓷𝓮 𝓶𝓸𝓼𝓽 𝓮𝔁𝓬𝓮𝓵𝓵𝓮𝓷𝓽𝓵𝔂 𝓲𝓷 𝓮𝓷𝓬𝓪𝓹𝓼𝓾𝓵𝓪𝓽𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓢𝔀𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓓𝓲𝓼𝓽𝓻𝓲𝓬𝓽 𝓲𝓷𝓽𝓸 𝓿𝓮𝓻𝓼𝓮, 𝓪𝓷𝓭 𝓘 𝔀𝓸𝓾𝓵𝓭 𝓫𝓮 𝓶𝓸𝓼𝓽 𝓱𝓪𝓹𝓹𝔂 𝓯𝓸𝓻 𝔂𝓸𝓾 𝓽𝓸
𝓑𝓮𝓼𝓽 𝓡𝓮𝓰𝓪𝓻𝓭𝓼,
- 𝓥𝓸𝓵𝓾𝓶𝓮
There was a tear in the note with the end of the sentence written on it, the portion I had fed to Diero. This was about the time I realized I was a gigantic idiot.
“Who the heck is 𝓥𝓸𝓵𝓾𝓶𝓮?” Cordax wondered aloud. “And why was a note from him in that police station? Better yet, where the heck are we? And even better than all that, WHAT IS GOING ON?!”
“I would ask that you pipe down, but I don’t think that it matters.” I murmured. “These imbeciles below us seem to be completely numbed by the cacophony of noise. Diero, is there any visible way for us to get down visually undetected?” I peered over the edge of the building I stood upon, looking for some kind of alleyway or shadow big enough to hide the whole group behind.
There was someone shouting into a microphone below as if introducing some kind of prizefighter. I jumped when In noticed someone standing on the building opposite and rammed my elbow twice into Diero’s leg to get his silent attention. He opened his mouth to growl at me for being obnoxious, when he too noticed the figure. In the limited light I could see a wide-brimmed sombrero and some kind of decorated poncho. He appeared to have his back to me, and was hurriedly rubbing something across his face.
“Y ahora, el retador entrando en el ring…” The announcer continued, as a spotlight suddenly traveled in the air. The mysterious figure on the other side of the street suddenly straightened and adjusted his brim.
“¡El Cadáver Tonto!” The spotlight swung down dramatically to illuminate the figure on the roof. All of the party jumped in surprise, however, as the figure on the roof happened to be Diero. I and my deadsperado were caught in the light, while the figure on the opposite roof turned to face me and began having a fit. Below in the street, the crowd burst into an uproarious stream of cheers and applause, excited to see el cadáver tonto in the… flesh.
“BOSS, WHAT DO I DO?!” Diero loudly whispered in my general direction. "WE CAN’T ALL GO DOWN THERE; WE’LL BE TOAST! WELL, YOU AND EVERYONE ELSE WILL, I’LL PROBABLY BE FINE. OF COURSE YOU PROBABLY DYING WOULD MEAN I PROBABLY STOP FUNCTIONING< AND I WOULDN’T LIKE THAT, SO I DON’T KNOW WHAT TO-"
“Shut your dumb face and take me down there with you.” I hissed at him. “I have a plan.”
Grabbing me with one hand, Diero hopped off the building, my hand motioning for the rest of the gang to stay put or I would kill them with an excessive amount of violence - I’m not sure if the message got through, but it’s the thought that counts. The crowd ooed and ahhed as Diero landed on the street, setting me down gently and walking towards a large clearing in the crowd. His opponent stood, a peculiar fellow with muscular hands and a metal collar which seemed to monitor his heart rate. Having a collar for such a purpose seemed excessive, though.
“Recuerda: ¡No patees, muerdas ni ninguna otra maniobra ilegal!” The voice rang out again, no visible sign of the speaker anywhere nearby. “¡Deja que gane el luchador más duro!”
I watched in anticipation as Diero walked forwards, a smug grin plastered on his stupid skull, and got knocked flat by the collar guy in one swift punch. He was back up in an instant, however, but there was some kind of holographic projection of a line between the two fighters. The unseen speaker had called early time, and arrows along the outer edge of the holographic arena directed Diero back to the edge where I sat.
“Hey, buddy.” The voice spoke, an orange light flashing on the edge of the arena. “You sure you’re up to this? That guy belted you in one swing. I mean, we’ve had some lightweights in here before, but yikes. You look like death, pal. If you’re Cadáver Tonto’s stand-in, you’ve gotta step up your game!”
“Never been knocked down by a normal guy like that before.” Diero mused, rubbing his chin. “Is he… y’know, normal and stuff?”
“Our fighters are allowed electronic and mechanical upgrades when they compete in the digital ring.” The voice responded. “He is forced to wear a monitor cuff, however, to ensure he does not silently enhance his own physical limitations during combat.”
“I’d call a steel-boned knuckle enchilada an enhancement on physical limitation.” Diero grumbled. “Boss, we’re gonna need one of your ‘inspirational messages’ to get through this.”
“Way ahead of you.” I replied, having found a coin on the ground and started scratching on the asphalt. I motioned to Diero, and he took a massive bite out of the ground, grinding the street into powder in his powerful jaw. “Y’know, I’d be so offended,” (This Diero reply has been edited for clarity amidst the chewing) “if I actually had taste buds.”
“Uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh, what” The voice reacted, thoroughly discomforted by what was happening. Diero sprang to his feet, marching back through the perimeter of the ring, his opponent rising to do the same.
Now, things were going to get interesting.
–
5 Likes
Theory destroyed with facts and logic 
Alright, time for theories. If only the Ultimate BoT Theorizer was here to theorize ultimately…
6 Likes
Also, I don’t think Zippy is a dog
And I’m certainly not a pig
Ooh interesting…
Now who could that Diero lookalike be…
also this translates to the Foolish Corpse
1 Like