Bacon Macleod
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B3 Chapter 375: Fog, pt. 6
🕑 Added 2025-08-13 21:30:04 +0000 UTCThe heat within him grew, a burgeoning pressure that would ignite.
Not quite yet though.
Kaius ran, toxic fog billowing in his wake. He had a grin plastered on his face as he turned from side to side, listening for approaching dangers. Time had long since lost meaning for him, but with his constant efforts to pierce the gloom, Truesight had grown — pushing back the darkness by over a stride.
The simple dirt trail he had been following was long gone — as was most of the grass. Now he waded through an endless ocean of black, leaping over chasms from island to island of floating ground.
Pumping his feet, another edge tore out of the haze — so close he barely had a moment to react. Kaius drove his heel down strong, legs burning as he launched himself up and out. Laughter spilled from his throat as his shaggy hair billowed in the wind, enjoying the feeling of weightlessness for the heartbeat it lasted.
Danger screamed in his mind — above.
Spell-powered force detonated behind him, shoving him forwards. Expedient Shunt blasted back the fog, creating a bubble of empty air. A head-sized boulder tore through it a moment later, rocketing down into the chasm below him.
The flying knives weren’t alone anymore — bastard of a trial had decided to throw bloody meteors in the mix too. Even he wasn’t insane enough to try and parry one of those.
Grass punched out of the haze, visible only a handful of strides before impact. Kaius hit the ground hard, burning off his momentum by crouching low. He dashed forwards, blade blurring as he tore through flying knife after flying knife, the squeals of tortured metal filling the air.
It was tough, but not anywhere near as difficult or impossible as the Trial of Obstinance. Physically, the feats were fine enough. What really mattered was his resources. His health was slowly draining away as it fought back against the toxic miasma that overpowered Rapid Adaptation and sealed cut after cut of blows he could not quite reach. Slowly and steadily, his spells were draining away.
At this point, even the physical exertion was a problem — he’d taken to only using Mercurial Reversal in the worst of circumstances when he simply wasn’t fast enough to otherwise knock aside a projectile that would otherwise injure something critical.
Yet Animus pulsed in tune with his Bloodsong, growing ever less clouded with every beat of his heart.
Rotten bloody roots, he was having the time of his life. The feeling of being forced to pull out all the stops, of throwing everything he had against a challenge to see if he was enough. He loved it. Always had, always would.
It wasn’t the danger, though the danger brought a visceral immediacy that forced him to hone himself to the highest degree; to immerse himself fully, free of distraction. He wasn’t even bloody sure if it was about winning. If it was, surely he would have wanted to slow down at times? To rest and enjoy the fruits of his labour?
That had never happened — even though he enjoyed his piece, there was always part of him that felt restless; that needed the struggle. Victory was sweet, and a catharsis that he enjoyed, but it wasn’t why he loved the fight.
It wasn’t about the power either. Strength was a valuable thing, and brought him what others could only dream of. But even if the power he held was what many considered the prize — what drove them beyond all else in their attempts to seize it — for him it was only a means to an end. A key that granted him access to more — more danger, more struggle, and more heat.
It was the challenge that he craved. The weight and pressure that forced him to be his best, and brought out the hungry joy in his heart. It was the rush of blood in his veins, and the burning gasp in his lungs. The fuel to his furnace, it drove him to push harder, climb higher — past even his own limits, no matter the cost.
He’d known that — felt it with every revelation that had come from Mentis and Corporus.
The question was why.
At first, when he’d toiled under his father, he’d thought it was to make him proud.
In the depths, alone, he’d thought it was for the primal needs of survival; later, when Porkchop had joined him, by a need to improve and escape.
When Mentis had revealed itself, that had changed — he’d thought it a lofty goal. One of learning; impassioned dedication to improve so that he wouldn’t put his team at risk.
Corporus had revealed new facets, of course. That there was something deep to it: that he needed to rail against something. He’d searched for answers — wanted their to be some lofty ideal that he held himself to.
Some higher standard: something reasonable.
Now, the answer stared him in the face. There was nothing reasonable about it — no grand and lofty ambitions that pushed him endlessly into the fire.
Why did he risk it all, day after day?
Because it was fun. Feeling his sweat drip as his blade weighed more than a dozen oxen in his hand; the multitude of different dangers that loomed, all vying for his attention as he had to split himself equally; the wind in his hair as he flew through the power of spell, and the warmth on his skin as he drenched himself in an iron tang.
The ground beneath his feet quaked, and Kaius howled with glee. That was new!
Seeing a glint out of the corner of his eye, he dropped low — stabilising his centre of mass as he cut up into a rising slash. A Father’s Gift shrieked as it tore into another flying blade.
A pin prick of dread jabbed into the back of his knee. Awkward in its positioning, he knew he wouldn’t be able to parry. Energy surged through him as Uncanny Dodge boosted his speed. His knee dropped inwards — an awkward position for a real fight, practically inviting an enemy to dislocate the joint with a stomp.
In his current situation, it saved his leg. A handspan of honed and enchanted steel punched straight through the outer edge of his joint, spraying blood in the air. Bone, muscle, and sinew were torn apart with equal ease. Kaius grunted, but even the blinding surge of pain couldn’t blunt the smile on his face.
He forced himself to move — driving his weight onto his injured leg as he lunged forwards. Flesh boiled under the power of his health, but it wasn’t an instantaneous recovery. Only through Corporus and Lesser Regeneration could he push through the wounds.
It seemed like the ground moved purely with the intention of tripping him — yanking a handspan in every given direction every time he pushed against it. Always in a direction that would most upset his flow, and never predictable enough to mitigate and counteract.
It was maddening. It was thrilling.
The miasma grew thicker, truly boiling within his lungs with every breath he took. Boulders fell like rain, throwing up great plumes of dirt as they smashed home into the floating islands of land.
Kaius never stopped running — never stopped pushing himself to move faster, despite the growing difficulty.
It hurt, and it was tiring, but it lit a fire within him. An old and familiar one — kindled when he was a boy, a warmth he’d felt the first time he’d run until he’d puked. A satisfaction that he’d found the edge of what he was capable of and pushed past it.
He remembered the pride on Father’s face that day. How would he look if he could see him now, when he’d long since pushed beyond the boundaries of what had been thought possible for a mere man to achieve?
Losing himself in the pounding of his heart, Kaius flowed, and the resonance within peaked.
It was deeper than a physical burn — more than a simple love of the fight. He’d felt this fire often. A glow in his runes as he dived into the mysteries of Vesryn glyphs, bending his mind into knots as he picked at them again and again. A zap as he pulled on his mana, forcing it into ever more complex shapes. A glint as he tightened his swordforms just another iota, forcing more from himself. The simple, joyful warmth he felt when he cooked with new and unfamiliar foods, working them into a full meal with nothing but instinct and gut feel.
There was more to him than a simple love of exertion — of pushing and being pushed. Victory was sweet, the bonds he’d forged with his friends were precious, and he did love being strong.
But those weren’t the why — they weren’t what lay at the core of him, as Xenanra put it.
Regardless of whether it was important, or it helped him reach his goals, or it was just a simple bout of friendly contest — he craved struggle. Loved to push himself as far as he could go; seizing those limits with both hands, and crushing them beneath his grip.
He needed to squeeze every bit of improvement he could. Not because it made him better, or stronger — though he loved and valued those things — but because it was hard. Because it was the sweat that gave life meaning. The labour. Everything would be so bland without it.
The moment he stopped trying, would be the moment he started dying.
Deep within him, the well of building pressure atop his final pillar ignited into a conflagration. It burned high and bright, soaring through the expanse of his internal world. His soul crooned in response, bolstered higher under the combined heat of the triumvirate above.
*Ding! Pillar of Self Discovered, Animus Ignited. Would you like to initiate Aspect Formation?*
He grinned fiercely as he launched himself over the edge of yet another island, a shunt detonating under foot to send him skywards.
He’d done it. Finally!
And bloody fast too — though, in retrospect, his insight had only come so easy after exploring what his Animus wasn’t. That it was his — a reflection of his truest self, not that which was influenced by the world around him; even the parts he let into his deepest centre.
Laughing uproariously, Kaius punched through the miasma. The bottomless chasms were gone, as were the ripping knives and meteors. There was only grass and gentle rolling hills, blanketed in an ever present fog held back by a dome like barrier just ahead of him.
He was at the next rest point on his path. Not a crossroads, not anymore — there was only one route that led forwards into the fog.
And waiting for him, lazily snapping at hunks of jerky gripped in a ghostly hand made of mana, was Porkchop.
Kaius hit the ground hard, sliding through the dirt for a moment before he raced forwards. Breaching the barrier before the next step on their path, he reeled as the sealed conduit in his soul was unleashed. The full force of Porkchop’s mind and soul slammed into his own — a weight of joy, fading impatience, mild hunger, excitement, and pride.
Thank the bloody gods it was back.
“I knew you had it in you, you stubborn bastard.” Porkchop said.
Kaius didn’t reply with words — primal excitement, satisfaction, and relief rolling off him in waves as he tackled Porkchop to the ground.
“Hey! You’re getting blood in my fur!”
“Think I care you big lug — I can feel how smug you are about beating me here, bastard!” he replied, wrapping an arm halfway around Porkchop’s neck and rubbing his other hand’s knuckles into his brother’s skull.
Porkchop growled, rolling on to his back before he hooked his claws under Kaius’s waist and kicked. Kaius let out a yelp of surprise as unyielding strength ripped his grip free and sent him sailing upwards.
Hooting with laughter, Porkchop rolled to the side before he came back down — leaving Kaius to desperately try to get his legs under him.
He could have used Shunt. He didn’t; it wouldn’t be sporting.
Gasping as the awkward angle of his impact drove his knee into his stomach, Kaius rolled back and did his best to sit nonchalantly in the grass.
“So, what have you been up to?”
Comments
Joshua Little
Thanks for the chapter.
TheShadowSlayer_
I love them so much. I hope we get to see more of Porkchop’s motivations with the next few chapters! Kaius has had by far the most impact on their trajectory so far, it’s so fun seeing Porkchop being more active in this Animus trial. P.S. Deep down, Kaius is a maniac. Who could have guessed.
