Bacon Macleod
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B3 Chapter 380: Temperance, pt. 2
🕑 Added 2025-08-18 21:30:02 +0000 UTCA wave of confusion, disorientation, and isolation washed over him, like he had been translocated out of time and space. His very body and mind ripped from one place to the next — twisted into something unrecognizable.
Who was he?
Where was he?
When was he?
An attosecond later, the feeling passed and Gesren furrowed his brow in confusion.
Flexing his quintessence with a flicker of his Authority, he sealed himself from the void around him, and watched his surroundings. Great shards of mana condensate the size of planets whirled through a shimmering space of white. The mana here was turbulent; dense. Every affinity he could name ran in streams and tributaries, like threads woven into some great fabric.
It was an awe-inspiring sight — like someone had taken an asteroid belt and recreated it with only the purest energy.
That was right — the reality shard, the one he’d stumbled across half a millennium ago by pure coincidence. Resource-rich and bountiful, it could mean the difference between a new rise and a foregone desolation for him and his House.
His brow furrowed in confusion. How could he forget that, on the eve of his greatest triumph?
Perhaps it was some lingering curse or war-wound left over from when this mortal realm had screamed its final breath, compressing into an infinitely dense moment before it shattered. Those echoes could affect one of his station.
He swept his attention through his centre, searching for any signs of tampering. Everything was as it should. His soul gleamed, and the wellspring of power within him was as rich and pure as it had always been.
No matter, he would simply visit master Ino when he finished here — his attendants would do the same — it wasn't as if wealth would be an issue anymore. They could afford to supply the head of their healing sect with proper materials.
Gesren grinned. His harvest stretched boundlessly in front of him. It was everything he had hoped for, after the desolation his clan had suffered all those millennia ago. Almost wiped out to the last, they were forced into hiding — terrified that the enemy would come for them again. Their holds had been plundered, their strongholds shattered, their people killed or stolen.
Yet despite it all, Gesren had shouldered his burden as the final bearer of his lineage. He had hidden himself as he searched for strength and answers, and he had risen — tall and strong.
When he found what he had been looking for, he returned.
Returned to new blessings.
Returned to find his house still lived. Some of their allies had remembered their bonds — and had hidden shattered remnants beneath their wings. Of what little remained, his bondsmen had remained true: his father’s most trusted men, now risen ascendent.
And he had come bearing a secret that might save them utterly— a shattered realm.
Not just any realm, no. It was the still beating mana-heart of a dying universe, discovered too late by the system.
It was temporary, at least as far as the System was concerned. Its remaining lifetime — a mere guttering candle of what it had once been — would be measured in the births and deaths of stars.
That was more than long enough for his needs. It was a rare and precious gift.
Even at their peak, his House had never dreamed of holding something like this in their grasp. It should have been a prized treasure of emperors — a sacred foundation for ancient dynasties.
Staring out into its radiance, Gesren grinned at the potential held within desolation. Woven knots of primaeval mana whispered secrets of great runes and true names; colossal crystals of condensated mysticism reflected truth and mystery, and in their cosmic dance, natural essence flowed like water.
With this at their disposal, he would forge them into a House worthy of bearing it. An empire.
He had found it by chance, when a storm of annihilation had thrown his vessel from the current he rode. At the time, he’d been little more than an island adrift in the boundless sea of reality.
Even among the many thousands of inheritances and lost secrets he had uncovered in his travels, this was among the greatest. Most importantly, now that he knew where it was, he could return whenever he wished.
With this their wealth would be nigh-infinite. Their every need would be provided for as they rebuilt. Perhaps even more importantly, the natural conditions of this place were perfect — both for raising the next generation, and for him and his attendants' progression.
It was exactly what he needed to reach the next step: to undergo his next metamorphosis; to help others in his clan walk the path and leap through the gate to eternity.
A little more scouting, and they’d be ready to leave. Ready to bring back news of their success! It would mean a month of celebration — of feasting and parades — and the beginning of a new period of preparation: planning infrastructure, gathering manpower, and moving their most trusted into position.
There was much work to do, but it would be done. He would see to it. Finally it was their time.
The astral space beside him folded, tumultuous and fragmented. Gesren snapped to the distortion.
It bucked, rebelling for a moment as a shattered fractal of clashing mana affinities bloomed — before being forcefully stabilized by the man who had wrapped it in his grip. He relaxed as he recognised the aura.
A moment later, his visitor arrived.
Dressed in the simple red robes of service, a tall and thin man with a noble complexion of brushed copper stepped through the crack. His face was weathered, speaking to aeons of loyalty. Service that Gesren fully intended to reward. Urmos.
Under Gesren’s father, he had been sworn to the red — a trusted notary. When the Fall had come, Urmesh had proved stalwart. Many were his peers who had turned coat, or vanished when the resources of their station dried up. He had not. Steadfast and dutiful, Urmesh had kept a network of a dozen estates hidden — and, more importantly, stable and productive.
In the time that Gesren had been absent, he’d built himself tall and strong.
Now, he was a pillar. One that Gesren leaned on often — one of his few Ascendants.
Urmesh stood behind his right shoulder, spine ramrod-straight, palms clasped before his waist. He inclined his head.
“Truly, this bounty you’ve brought is beyond reckoning. I’ve scouted the eastern rimward segment. The essence there is rich — it bubbles forth from a confluence of life, creation, miasma, and undeath. The currents are strong and the power is great — too much, I think, for most of the unrisen we lead. But I believe it should be perfect as a sacred ground for those near the peak, and those beyond it. With care, we could even focus it to forward our own growth.”
Gesren grinned. That was exactly what he wanted to hear.
“Is it truly so great?” he asked. “Even beyond the wealth you see before me?”
He gestured toward where infinitesimal droplets of essence oozed from the broken fabric of reality — gathering into pools, boiling away, then splitting into countless mana streams. It was unstable, but that mattered little. It could be focused; it could be shaped; it could be bound.
Besides — its very presence stimulated his own generation. He could feel it, surging within him like a typhoon, collecting in the shadow of his Icon.
“It is, my lord. Nearly triple the generation rate, perfect for accumulation and refinement. The affinities it’s generating from might cause some challenges — it will be more expensive to refine, and more difficult to work — but I think we can both agree: income will not be a problem anymore.”
Gesren nodded. It was true. While manually refining essence was a burden — even in a place like this — it was a valuable product. With a little work, they’d be able to afford more industrial solutions very soon.
Before he could ask another question, space folded again — this time violently, crackling like a solar storm. It was as if it were being shredded by the desperate claws of some wild voidbeast. The aura that flooded through was manic — tinged by desperation and fear. The very scent of it rose the scales on his cheeks.
He knew the signature — Nerial, his other subordinate.
But the strength — the speed with which he clawed a tunnel through reality. Something was wrong. He’d known the man to leave his claws unflexed ever since they were boys!
Gesren reacted as only someone born of war could.
He cloaked himself in bone and darkness, summoning the crushing weight of a star’s corpse to hand. Even reinforced by his intent and authority, the shard’s fabric shuddered around the head of his mace. Space buckled, threatening to fracture into monofilaments sharp enough to slice even him.
The quintessence within him howled — churned to fury by readiness and hunger — and his Icon coiled in his mind: A sky-viper, lurking in the clouds for the perfect moment to strike.
Ever-prepared, Urmesh did the same. His body vanished into screaming wind, replaced by a totem of violence: a crackling storm of plasma, shaped into tendrils and gnashing fangs.
Whatever had driven Nerial toward them in such desperation, they would be ready. Whether it was the shade of a dead world, a cloistered ascendant that survived the end, or a voidborn using this place as a hidden grotto — it wouldn’t matter.
They would fall before him.
Nerial appeared in a flash, reality screaming around him as he wielded his authority like a blunt instrument — desperately sealing the tunnel he had cut through the realm. His body was torn, chunks missing from golden flesh as blue ichor streamed over his scales in waves and crystalline bones were bared to the air. His robe was shredded, burnt, torn by some furious assault that had shattered his ribs and exposed his still-beating heart.
His eyes were wild with fear.
Gesren tensed. For a warborn Ascendant of Nerial’s calibre to still be injured? That meant quintessence. They were under a true assault.
That was when he felt it— a true dread that caught in his throat and ushered in an old fear: the lurking doom of a past he thought buried.
The signature coating Nerial was one he knew well; one seared into his bitterest memories.
Holcrest Corporation.
They had found him.
But how?
He needed to know more — they shouldn’t, couldn’t have followed them! They thought his people dead!
Could Nerial have left the shard — gone against his orders and jeopardised all of their preparations? Even then, it would have been the worst of luck. They were in the middle of nowhere — this place didn’t even count as an island in the boundless realities. Yet... he knew the vigilance of his oldest foes hadn’t slacked. The bones of his old hold were watched. Maybe the Holcrest had sensed his man — ambushed him, and marked him during his escape?
It was possible. Gesren cursed — if they had marked him they could already be lying in wait. They would need to chart a new route out — that would set them back a century or more!
Then Nerial reached out with his mind and Gesren paled. Communication at their level was instant. Ascendants had no need for speech — not when minds moved faster than mortal light.
“Gesren,” Nerial bellowed. “Holcrest is here! I don’t know how they found this place — but they are here all the same. Not just a raiding party either. In full force, thirty ascendants built for war. I sensed them first — tried to mark their passage. They noticed me almost instantly. I was barely able to flee.”
Gesren froze — processing. They were here already? Impossible! This place had been utterly lost to the void…he had stumbled across it by pure chance, no one should know it existed!
Had they been followed? Had he been betrayed? The very thought of it froze him to his core — he’d only told the two already with him. His closest confidants.
There were no other explanations.
Blasted rats, he had taken every precaution! Was it Nerial? Could this be a ploy — his injuries a ruse? But why warn them?
No, that didn’t sit right — nor would have Urmesh betrayed him. Not after so long; not with the fear and shock Gesren could feel radiating from both men’s auras.
Left without answers Gesren floundered. Why now, after all this time? This had been their gift. A panacea from fate itself. Just a few millennia more, hidden away here, and they would have been untouchable.
Whatever the answer was, in the end, it didn’t matter.
They were here; he had no way to fight them off.
Not with that many. Not with so little strength, not now. They’d lost — again.
The odds of finding another treasure like this, especially now that the Holcrest knew he had returned, were infinitesimal.
A fight would be meaningless. They would die, and his clan — cut adrift from what little strength they still had — would follow.
His decision came swiftly.
No matter the setback, they still had a chance to return — so long as the the three of them lived, time was not their limiting resource. No matter how long it took, there would be other shards. Other secrets. Other opportunities and roads to power.
Throwing himself at this battle would achieve nothing.
Urmesh felt the shift in his intent.
“Sire, we can’t! We need this! Even with all the time in the boundless realms, the chances of finding another shard — even a fraction as valuable as this — are slim to none.”
“Then what would you have me do!”
“The inheritance — the secret you found in your travels! The seeds you told me about — use them. Use them and save us!”
Gesren felt a surge of heat in his chest.
He knew what Urmesh spoke of — the sacrilege he now suggested.
In his mind, he saw it clearly: the vial of inky black, hidden deep within a pit long forgotten; chained down by wards that had broken beneath the weight of time. The way it boiled. The way it called to him.
A twisted reflection of essence — filled with the Truth of the long dead; the earnestly forgotten; the cleansed, and the destroyed.
One he knew of; one that would be heresy of the highest order. He’d thought the vial an ancient curio at first. Something to be studied. Only after a millenia of casual tinkering had he discovered what it was; what it could unlock. Damnation.
And yet… it would be so easy. Would it not be a worthy sacrifice, to secure his house?
The strength was undeniable. With that single remnant, and the knowledge he had learned, he would be able to recreate it — rip power and potential from the very building blocks of the reality weave. There would be no drain; no backlash: just the knowledge that his very existence took from the world instead of adding to it.
He knew, with complete certainty, that it would guarantee victory — though it would ruin half the shard. The twisted edges would need to be severed — cast into the void. Some of it would be preserved, enough that it would make little difference for their future prospects. They could survive. No! With something like this, they could win!
But the cost — he would be damned. A cost that was known to all.
It would brand him vile — traitor — rejected by the light of the highest power. Yet… in a place as remote and desolate as this? With the interference that would be released by a full scale clash with Holcrest? He could make this shard their grave — remove his enemy. A gift, perhaps, even more valuable than a nigh-eternal wellspring of mana and essence.
A wave of disorientation crashed over him as temptation curled thick fingers into his marrow.
Choose.
Choose.
CHOOSE.
Even as the thought formed, he saw the way it coiled around him — begging him to violate the one oath all ascendants were bound to: Never steal power through annihilation.
And in that moment Gesren’s mind split — and another stood in his place.
Kaius.
He was drowning. Drowning in the raw, visceral sensation of a being so far beyond him that it burned.
Yet still, the call screamed. Temptation hungered.
He was not himself.
He was a dream of a god — whose every will, every when, lay on the cusp of salvation. The tools were at hand, no matter the barbs woven into their grips.
He just had to choose.
What came next was obvious to him. The corruption. The degradation. The strength.
It wasn’t destruction — no, not wounds upon the world, not energy spent and shifted into new form. This was different.
To wipe away the very fabric of existence and steal power from its deathrattle — to shape that primal scream to one’s own ends — Kaius felt it, felt what it would bring: the charring of his soul as the essence within gnawed on the very world around him.
And in that moment… he rejected it with every fiber of his being. His soul recoiled in disgust, his honour and will stood fast, horrified.
No.
He could not. He would never. No matter the cost.
To tear at the foundations of reality itself, to violate the System — that was not sacrifice.
It was sacrilege.
There was no path in that. No skill to master. No mountain to climb. No trial to overcome. Only the annihilation of self; of the world; of meaning. There was no doubt in his mind.
He simply would not.
Yet the being he filled did not agree. Bound by pains so eminently familiar, the Ascendant pushed on — even as Kaius screamed.
And in that moment of rejection — in that layered, dual-mind fracture — Gesren reached for something forbidden.
And Kaius was ripped back.
A/N: A small and incomplete peak behind the curtain. As a treat. A bare morsel, if you will.
Comments
Joshua Little
Thanks for the chapter.
Bacon Macleod
I don't use LLM's, at least not for writing (the transcription software i use is based off a language model, but its rough so it mangles a bunch of words and has atrocious punctuation) I started using em dashes because its the grammatically correct way to deal with interjections, extra information and thought interupts. Previously I just made sentence fragments, but it annoyed me. LLM"s use em dashes because they're correct grammar that is present in huge volumes of published text. I do tend to overuse them, but that is mostly because they're super fucking convenient. I draft, dictate, proofread, and edit myself, then send to a beta reader, then also have an editor for the eventual ebooks.
Elvis Malkic
I am curious in what part of your process you use LLMs... At keast the use of em dashes is irking me while reading litrpg recently sinceI know at least the proof reading was done with AI.... Just a biased opinion :)
