The Singing Scar has been remastered with new art assets. All character portraits and in-battle enemies have been replaced. However, since the game file is so old, I couldn't touch the code without it breaking.

I've also been inspired to start working on a remake of the prequel, Abyss of Vinsaga. Design work has started and extensive planning has been done. I've also dug up a couple of old, unreleased games and should be releasing them soon in a couple of weeks. These are small prototypes/games and nothing like the 20-hour scope of The Singing Scar.

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The following is a spoiler-free recap of The Singing Scar. It's a fun writing exercise for me, a trip down the memory lane for a game I made 5 years ago. It's also an in-canon epilogue for the game, and uses AI-generated illustrations to help you visualize the imagery.

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It called to me.

Like the wail of a dying great whale, gasping its last from beyond the horizon.

As I flew through the endless white expanse, passing universes and realities, I heard it. I halted. Paused.

My guide said nothing. He had exhausted all his words. Of course, he talked nonstop for thousands of years as we traveled. Now, he merely nodded.

I teleported beside the source of the emanation. There it was.

A lone golden book, floating by itself in the void. I’ve never seen it, yet I recognized it immediately. Like before, it was his last gasp, his final struggle, his refusal to give in to the Axiom of Finality. A living scar in the omniverse, singing to itself.

It was a trap.

It’s obvious what had to be done. The book must be utterly disintegrated. The mere memory of its existence should be cleansed from past, present and future.

And yet, I choked. Nostalgia gripped me. Gripped hard. Like an iron vice, grasping my heart. I couldn’t stop myself. I was about to do the unthinkable.

The guide said nothing. He made no move to stop me. As always, they didn’t dare interfere, unless absolutely necessary.

I placed layers upon layers of chains in my mind. Automated my actions henceforth, with the final instruction being to destroy the book. My hand then moved by itself, and opened the pages.

Even the chains couldn’t hold back my tears. Once, it was my home. The towering city of Aquamoon, refurbished from the ruins of overgrown skyscrapers. Torrents of life-giving water flowed from the hidden source within. An oasis in the otherwise desolate lands of Vinsaga.

Jozz liked to sit beside the sinkhole where Aquamoon once stood. The place gave him equal parts fear and comfort. He always held onto his music box, but he dared not play it. It kindled the tiny flames of his fragmented memories, but too much, and it would become a roaring uncontrollable fire. The curse of a fallen god.

No matter what we did, there was no stopping the corruption that gradually ate away at our world of Vinsaga. It made monsters violent, and the people - desperate. Everything was touched by it - even us. Ancient automatons, tasked with containing the filth, were themselves gradually infected as well.

But we tried. We never gave up.

Like many humans of that era, Finn was well-adapted to the hostile environment. Those of Gadarin were resourceful people, able to find all sorts of uses for strange trinkets and unearthed technology.

I always admired Finn. He was the most cautious, yet he was also the bravest of us. After all, he was the only one who was merely human, among all of us. His gear made him unnaturally tough, but power always comes at a cost. And for a mortal, there wasn’t much to give.

Wow. I never got a good look at Musoo before he awoke. Without him, we would be never have crossed the multiverse and visited other worlds. His steps would shatter mountains and crush the remnants of dead worlds. He was more than a giant, and gods were tiny ants compared to him. And yet, he was helpless against the incoming tide, as we all were. In a way, he was an ant himself.

One of those worlds was Escaria. Dead and lifeless, nothing was left once the corruption had completely ravaged the lands. In the soundless ruins, I thought I could hear faint echoes of Cassie’s voice. In a way, she had always been with us, and journeyed alongside us. In a way.

During our journey, we came upon an entire world that existed within a massive keyhole. An advanced civilization that had prospered for thousands of years. What would happen if Musoo were to insert the key, and then turn it?

It’s strange to see myself. I once journeyed into the mind of Eve, trying to bring her back from dissipating into pure emotive energy. There, I discovered who I truly was, and why that truth was hidden from me.

Grand prisons were built upon the heads of celestial statues like this one, to hold that which could never be truly destroyed. But, for how long? Even the eternal eventually decayed, and they began to leak out from cracks within the prison walls.

For how long had she fought, I wondered. Millions of them were captured - each, a world-ending cataclysm. Was this why Mika went crazy? I shuddered. I almost made a similar choice. To forever save the multiverse in a never-ending cycle, over and over again.

Maybe, becoming something else was a blessing. Or maybe, it was a fate she could not escape from.

Some say that there is a cosmic bliss in encountering the unfathomable. That there is a strange serenity when faced with the utterly incomprehensible. Once the mind buckles and breaks, it is freed from earthly chains. It lets go, and somehow, in a twisted way, it ascends into enlightenment. Then, and only then, is it able to make the most logical of decisions.

Maybe it is not the best one, and maybe I was driven by the unseen hand of yet another entity. But this time, I truly feel that it was my decision. Even if it is only an illusion.

There is no right answer, but I chose this one. This fate.

We are not your playthings. We are not puppets in your theater, cursed to repeat the same mistakes no matter how many times we are reborn.

This might be your book, but it is not your story.

I closed the book, and mouthed a soundless word:

Erase.

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The guide nodded, and we continued on our journey. Nothing remained of the golden book.