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Chapter 309. The Indomitable Fist
🕑 Added 2022-11-05 20:50:59 +0000 UTCThe field is no more.
All that remains is the classroom and the gnarled root-like branches that surround it. I have no idea what the wood is made from, but it’s more resilient than I ever guessed. Even blasting it with Death energy fails to significantly harm it, my power unable to penetrate through the wooden cortex.
Many people have stopped fighting and wait off in the distance; some have even departed the plane, uninterested in watching the end of the melee.
One person still demands my attention, doggedly coming after me death after death, as those she’s searching for something in the conflict. Given her association with Karanos, I’m not surprised that her control over Dark affinity rivals Ascendant Meng’s.
Karanos keeps strong company, Maria agrees.
The woman slips forward like a serpent, her body incorporeal as her fingers jab forward toward my head. A dark spear lances forward, spanning the distance between us in an instant.
There’s no time to dodge, so I hold up my arm, shrugging off my instinctive trepidation. Everything I’ve ever learned–both from my experience fighting practitioners in the loop and from fighting in the real world–states that Dark energy is to be avoided. Dark practitioners can’t rain fire down on a city or shatter it with earthquakes, nor can they fly on the wind or control vitality. Instead, they can become ghosts–moving through anything–or a force of annihilation–cutting through anything.
Anything.
Even the weakest Dark practitioners have that power, though the energy they may manifest may be insignificant, barely extending for more than an inch beyond one finger. Mundane weapons are often more effective in battle than a low affinity practitioner’s Dark energy manifestation.
However, when the spear pierces my arm, it doesn’t cut all the way through without resistance. It stops on my rugged, warped forearm, the black energy blending into the dark pigment of my transformed skin. Deflecting the blow, I pivot away and take to closing the wound on my warm. The spearhead may not have cleaved clean through my arm, but it did leave a nasty gash.
“I know you,” the woman thinks, butting up against my mental attack with her will. I wouldn’t be able to read such thoughts if she weren’t intentionally blaring them.
“Ascendant Mordika,” I reply mentally as I level an attack on her body, attempting to scramble her brain with my decemancy. “Your persistence is as remarkable as it is irritating.”
She winces but red energy glows beneath her pale skin, successfully fending off my attack. The closer I get, the easier it will be to overcome such defenses and kill her.
Mordika and I both benefit from passive physical enhancement even though our ascendant energy isn’t specialized for that purpose. Her denser energy provides noticeably more benefit, however, her agility is superior to mine. That isn’t enough for her to overpower me: My Beginning affinity–and my fine control over my body thanks to my Death affinity–close the gap.
As I dart closer, a sudden blast of Dark energy radiates out. Several crackling limbs of darkness surround Mordika. The snake-like appendages attack me from all sides, taking advantage of my proximity and giving me no way to maneuver.
Mordika kicks her leg out and a pillar of darkness rises from the ground, consuming my lower half in a pillar of inescapable Dark. The ruinous energy doesn’t have any physical substance, so I use my decemancy to throw my body from the treacherous area.
I’ve silenced my body’s pain receptors, but I can sense the damage. My skin is ruined, as though severely burned, but the damage isn’t yet fatal. Mordika’s darkness must have found its way into my lungs, however–they’re torn like paper, their walls collapsed.
My Beginning affinity reconsiders the previous engagement in my head. Mordika had been aiming for my head, hoping to have her many shadowy serpents strike through me from multiple directions to hit a single target. I reacted faster than she expected, and rather than just dodging to the side, I flew upwards as well. As a result, her attack missed the base of my skull and shredded my chest.
Her fighting style is incredible, Maria comments. It makes perfect use of her increased strength and agility and her ability to change the shape of her Dark energy to strike. She knows that simply filling the area with darkness won’t work, that she will tire first with such a strategy.
Normally I would appreciate Maria’s analysis, but after minutes of fighting, I’m too mentally exhausted to care. There is only me, Holiday, Red, and the dwindling set of opponents.
Suddenly Mordika freezes. I sense Red’s influence–he’s finished off another ascendant and has come to offer his assistance. I double down on my own mental attack, then repeat my previous attempt to destroy Mordika’s brain.
This time the attack succeeds.
There’s no time for Red and I to share a triumphant grin; Holiday has been holding off three ascendants simultaneously so I could engage Mordika.
As I direct my warped flesh to re-knit itself, I dive back into the fray.
—
Less than a minute later, the fighting has ceased.
There is no effort to clean the field up. Holiday and his representatives from the Hall of Ascension leave without fanfare, giving Meng directions on where he should go when he’s ready to enter the Hall of Ascension. Apparently, Meng has up to fifty years to set his affairs in order before he’ll be required to attend the Hall.
After the Hall’s departure, a few ascendants approached me to offer their respects before leaving; Meng was not among them. Ever since I killed him by controlling his affinity with necromancy, he avoided me.
The final remaining ascendants gather in the temple. At this point, only me, Red, Mordika, Lucinda, and two of Lucinda’s black faction compatriots–Ascendants Cursory and Valent–remain.
Lucinda leans against a column, eyeing me with impatience. She wears a new black dress, her previous one destroyed in the conflict. It was made of a self-healing fabric, but the damage was too extensive.
Mordika approaches and repeats her mental assertion from earlier out loud: “I know you from somewhere.”
I stare at her impassively, cognizant that the black faction is watching. “We may have crossed paths before.”
“You are a Beginning practitioner,” she says. “You should know better than I.”
I resist the urge to frown. Mordika likely assumes that I’m a peak Beginning practitioner since my Remorse affinity is clearly inferior. After all, how could I have two affinities that are both new? It should be impossible.
If I were a peak Beginning practitioner, then Mordika is probably right–I should know for certain whether I’ve met her or not.
“Before this competition, you never met Ancient Black,” I say slowly, choosing my words with care. “That is all that matters.”
She turns to the side and her eyes pass over Red. Mordika must have seen Red back at the white faction tournament, but so far, she hadn’t recognized him, probably because Red’s performance had been middling. Red’s talents were ill-suited for a competition of strength between ascendants.
For some reason, at this very moment, Mordika’s eyes widen slightly as though in recognition. She composes her expression, but I can sense her body’s physiological response to her realization, her heart rate increasing.
Her eyes flit to Lucinda, the only Remorse practitioner aside from Red who is present, then back to me.
“I will take my leave,” Mordika says suddenly, inclining her head. Lucinda gives her a curious look as the Dark practitioner cuts the air and steps through the veil vulnerability.
“She recognized me,” Red informs me, confirming my suspicion.
“But did she recognize me?” I wonder. I honestly don’t know how she’d make the leap that Ancient Black is Ascendant Dunai, but I’d be mistaken to underestimate the deductive abilities of an experienced ascendant like Mordika.
“It doesn’t matter, does it?” Red replies. “She left quickly to make sure she wouldn’t let anything slip. She knew I was a member of the white faction undercover; that’s already compromising enough. If the black faction knew that someone from the white faction was Ascendant Holiday’s chosen runner-up…”
Red leaves the consequences to the imagination.
Lucinda claps her hands together. “Ready to leave?”
I incline my head.
She grins. “Good–I’ve long since tired of this plane.” She gestures for Ascendant Valent to pierce the veil. He walks over leisurely, his long brown queue swinging by his waist like a pendulum. He yawns as he grips the veil and tears it to the side, the motion unexpectedly vicious.
He turns his head to face Lucinda, his eyes bored. Cursory runs a hand through his gray hair and moves to push the loitering Regret practitioner through the threshold. Valent dodges and sweeps at Cursory’s legs, though the wind elementalist forms a barrier of wind and steps gracefully forward. Clucking his tongue, Valent follows behind.
Lucinda smiles. “Guests first.”
Red and I step through the threshold.
—
As we pass through a desert, a worm-like creature launches itself from the sand, the teeth in its round mouth rotating so rapidly as to appear a blur.
Leading from the front, Valent should have informed us of the potential danger. Instead, he just went a bit further ahead, putting distance between himself and the others.
He dodges its attack with the minimal amount of effort, his legs missing the worm’s gaping mouth by less than a foot. He runs down its segmented back, then leaps off. The worm’s midsection partially caves in and it retreats into the sand, leaving the way clear.
At the beginning of our voyage, the black faction ascendants were relatively quiet and polite. Over time, the cohort’s true dynamic surfaced.
“Just because nothing fazes you, doesn’t mean you shouldn’t inform us of potential dangers,” Cursory complains.
Valent shoots him a disdainful look. “Are we really having this conversation again?”
“He’s right, Valent,” Lucinda chides. “Nobody’s forcing you to spoil yourself about everything, but if you look ahead and see a threat, you should inform us.” She looks at Red. “You should learn from Ascendant Red’s example. He uses his Regret sparingly and is much more fun.”
Valent shows minimal reaction… probably because he has already heard Lucinda’s rebuke in a scenario. Red–used to Lucinda’s flattery by now–only smiles politely.
Most of the planes leading to Starbreak are unpopulated. We’ve taken a few breaks to eat and rest, but most of the time we’ve been traveling. I get the sense that Lucinda wants to already be back, though for what reason, I know not. Her urgency is an undercurrent in her vitality, however. I sense how her nervousness burgeons with each passing day.
I wonder what we will learn upon arrival.
—
Three days later.
Even Valent appears excited as we enter the final stretch of our journey. Our travel speed is much faster now than at the outset, Lucinda’s cohort evidently much more familiar with the planes closer to their faction’s headquarters. Cursory buoys everyone forward on a tailwind as we rocket through the planes, until, at last, we torpedo through the last one.
We emerge in the air over a massive waterfall. Pure, clear water violently batters on the rocks, frothy white stark against the black stone. A brilliant rainbow casts an iridescent film over the scene. Cursory’s wind holds me alight as a warm zephyr curls around my body, the false white sun in the sky bathing me in warmth only tempered by the cool spray below.
As I look skyward, my eyes need a moment to adjust to the brightness. All around us, for as far as I can see, are waterfalls. A massive halo of water hangs above us all, made tiny by the distance. Water drips from the disk, appearing almost like syrup, falling unhurried to the ground.
Those strands of water each feed a roaring waterfall.
Thin, wispy clouds move swiftly over the cerulean canvas of the sky, constantly changing form.
“It’s the day cycle,” Lucinda explains as Cursory flies us over the landscape toward an enormous basin. Over a hundred rivers feed into it, revealing it as the terminus for the water coming from the halo above.
Just past the basin is a large rock formation perfectly sculpted to appear like a clenched fist, as though the earth itself is preparing to punch the false heavens. As we approach it, I sense the vitality within it and realize that we’ve finally reached our destination.
The lone white sun of the plane shines above the indomitable fist. Starbreak, Maria muses. The name fits.
Comments
Definitely (Not) a Necromancer
Nice
Mitchell
I guess Meng must have felt his soul being manipulated differently than if it were his mind, especially since the latter could be used to control his affinity as well and is probably much more commonplace.
