When you are blind you do not see blackness.
Find an object just at the outer edge of your vision, now turn your head away from it slightly.
The way in which you can no longer see it, is what Remo was contemplating.
He was at the periphery of a party wearing a jaunty purple felt hat he had chosen precisely because it did not suit him.
The music’s tempo increased. The lights seemed to pulse rhythmically. A heightened reality swirled, implying potentialities he dared not engage with.
He sat in a darkened corner with his eyes closed, trying to protect his consciousness from visions it couldn’t comprehend.
Remo had set out to slay the gods of his world, only to find that most of them were obsolete. Replaced by impersonal systems, they were highly evolved, highly adaptive. Yes they were fueled by human misery, but that was only incidental to their own survival. Now he was numb to the disappointment, with occasional pangs of fear at the degradation of his ambition.
When Jal-tok finally passed by, Remo felt the hidden dagger pulse, and prayed it would not give him away. Such aggression could not harm a god.
When Jal-tok fell to his knees, poisoned by tainted fruit and over-reaching ambition, Remo did not smile, and felt mostly sadness.
But he noted, not even gods were immune to symbols, when backed by the right dagger.