Tunde picked up the last core from the large Corespawns as they shriveled up, their bodies desiccating rapidly. He guessed something about their physiology broke down upon death. Either way, it was to his benefit, as the cores added to his growing wealth within his void ring. The call of the distant rift drew his attention, reminding him with urgency that another revenant could be making their way through its entrance.
Tunde had no illusions. In a real fight, he was no match for an adept—not in the slightest. He could sense the bile-inducing nature of the undeath Ethra that flowed from the adept. The power had been overwhelming to behold.
His only saving grace had been the fact that he was filled to the brim with rift energy, flooding his system and temporarily boosting him to the peak of disciple rank. That, and the element of surprise. The adept had clearly not been prepared to face another ranker within the rift space—certainly not one with a relic weapon that could cut through almost anything Tunde encountered like a hot knife through butter.
Still, Tunde knew he wouldn’t be so lucky again. The surprise he had used when the adept fled into that gut-wrenching, horrific place—where Tunde had barely escaped—was gone. Whatever that place was, it had terrified him to his core. Tunde wasn’t sure he had ever felt such fear, not even when standing at the threshold of death. It spoke to the vile nature of those who practiced the Ethra of undeath—a plague in all but name. It also left him with mixed feelings about Thorne.
But for now, he had a mission to complete. Saying a silent, hollow prayer to the hegemons for Isolde and Draven’s protection, Tunde hoped Elder Moros would take pity on them if he wasn’t around. After all, it was him, not the others, that Moros had issues with. Just thinking of Moros without the usual honorifics felt strange, but that was the least of his concerns.
Tunde came upon another rift entrance, puzzling him. As far as he knew, rifts didn’t just pop up anywhere. They could, but usually only where the density of Ethra was unusually high, like in the forests where the clan bred monsters. This place had only an average Ethra density. Whatever method had been used to summon the rifts—perhaps tied to the inscriptions etched into the stone walls earlier—it was clear the Corespawns and revenants were working together. The sooner Tunde closed these rifts, the better for both the clan and his goals.
“I get a rift core or I die,” he thought grimly as he burst into another room, Ethra sight blazing. Oddly, the thought was comforting.
Three towering forms of rock-like Corespawns guarded the rift’s entrance, swirling with blue and green light. They fell to the ground a few seconds later, their bodies collapsing into dust as Tunde quickly gathered their cores. Without hesitation, he dashed toward the rift and dove through its gelatinous surface, landing in another crystal-lined passageway. He immediately spotted the rift core perched on a pedestal of glowing crystals.
Making a mad dash, he snatched the core just as another revenant came through the rift in the distance. Both froze, locked in mutual surprise. The revenant, a peak disciple, snorted in frustration, but Tunde felt the relic inside him absorbing rift energy, temporarily boosting him to the peak of his rank once again.
Snarling, the revenant charged. Ethra sight revealed her weaknesses, and Tunde struck with a speed that surprised even him. A jab to the throat disrupted her Ethra flow, and a powerful blow to her chest sent her crashing to the ground, disturbing some crystalline creatures. Her hand morphed into a grotesque, wet blade, but Tunde severed it with one clean stroke before decapitating her in a single, fluid motion.
The entire encounter had lasted less than twenty seconds.
Panting, his body covered in rapidly healing gashes, Tunde realized just how close he had come to death. Another figure appeared in the distant rift, but Tunde, gripping the revenant’s decaying skull, tossed it aside when he recognized the adept. Rage burned in the adept’s eyes as he roared, but Tunde had already rolled out of the collapsing rift just in time to escape.
The world blurred as he landed. Shuddering from the raw aura that poured from the adept, Tunde watched in horror as the rift sealed shut behind him, cutting off the adept’s furious roar. Relief flooded him—only to dissipate when he saw another Corespawn.
This one dwarfed the others. Standing over seven feet tall and encased in rock armor, the Corespawn removed its helm, revealing an ashen face with glowing brown eyes. A peak tier 2.
Tunde winced, still healing from the revenant’s earlier attacks. Another battle for his life was about to begin.
“You’ll pay for that,” the Corespawn rumbled, the vibrations resonating through the very ground beneath them.
“You’re on Verdan clan lands. Surrender, and I’ll spare you,” Tunde said, pushing his doubts aside.
The Corespawn laughed, its deep voice booming. It hefted a large metal axe, and for a brief moment, Tunde wondered why every ranker he had encountered used such brutal weapons. Whatever happened to straight-up brawling?
“Surrender?” the Corespawn growled. “No, not here. Not while we stand on the precipice of a new age for the beast kin.”
“Beast kin?” Tunde asked, as they slowly circled each other, his arms now sheathed in vengeance.
“You empire dogs call us Corespawns, abominations,” the Corespawn spat. “But we are at one with nature. A perfect meld of the wildness of Adamath and the strength of humanity. Something you refuse to acknowledge. But no more.”
Tunde’s instincts, the distortions of Ethra sight, and the vibrations passing through his body startled him into sensing the brewing projection technique beneath his feet. Leaping clear, his eyes widened as he dodged the swing of the axe glowing with rock Ethra, similar to Draven’s but carrying the sharp, deadly edge of destruction rather than unshakeable strength.
Vengeance wreathed in resonance clashed with the axe, the two disciples forcing their strength against each other. Tunde was the first to give way, eyes wide as the attack slammed him into the ground. He rolled away, Ethra sight flaring as rock spikes shot up from the earth, aiming to skewer him. Sliding across the ground, he regained his footing, frowning as he examined the scratched surface of Vengeance before turning his gaze to the Corespawn. The creature seemed to grow larger, as if the rock armor encasing its body was expanding.
Towering over Tunde, the massive Corespawn, Kurl Rock Scale, roared, his single large horn glowing with a deep yellow light. Before Tunde could react, an unseen force slammed him into the wall, Ethra sight only revealing a ripple in the air, like a stone dropped into a pond. Shaking his head, he rolled away just as Kurl crashed into the wall, shaking the mine’s very foundation.
"RETREAT?!" Kurl roared. "I, KURL ROCK SCALE, WOULD NEVER RETREAT!"
Tunde was thrown into the air as resonance hummed within him, as if trying to tell him something. He crossed Vengeance in front of him to block the next blow, but the impact hammered him into the ground again. Tunde screamed in pain as he felt his rib crack. Despite the rift energy fueling him, the blow had nearly brought the mine down on them, cracks webbing across the reinforced wooden walls.
Getting to his feet, rage burned through him, mingling with the agony in his bones. Resonance—the sweet hum of destructive power—rang within him as Kurl attacked again. Ethra sight flared, allowing Tunde to follow the resonance as it jumped from one arm to another, building with every second. His fist cocked back as he faced down the massive Corespawn.
He had trained with Elder Joran, faced the forest of monsters, survived death, and killed early-tier disciple barbarian rankers from the wastelands. He wasn’t about to die to some Corespawn from hegemon-knew-where.
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Resonance painted Vengeance a starry midnight color, wisps of aura exuding from Tunde as he crashed into Kurl’s massive fist. A terrible explosion tore the room apart.
Landing in a dust-filled area, Tunde stared at the bloodied form of Kurl, who had lost a hand. The Corespawn's rock armor was cracking, shattering in large heaps as he shrunk back to his original size.
****************************
Elder Moros paused at the mine's entrance; eyes wide as he sensed the aura from within. What kind of creature had escaped from the rift?
Gathering his steel circle blades, Ethra churning within him, he stepped into the tunnel just as it began to collapse. Hastily retreating, he scowled at the entrance.
It was bad enough that Joran’s disciple had likely gotten himself killed—now Moros couldn’t even retrieve the body to gloat over. Snarling to himself, he made a mental note to warn Jashed and Thalas, just in case Joran sought retribution. He paused.
Perhaps he’d need to watch himself as well. One could never be too sure.
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Kurl gripped his missing shoulder, blood spurting from the charred stump where his arm had been. Desperately, he popped pills into his mouth, but his breath was ragged, his eyes filled with hate as he stared at Tunde.
Tunde gazed back at the Corespawn, dark wisps of power flowing from his body—his aura, perhaps. He wondered why he had thoughts of ripping Kurl limb from limb. The Corespawn thought himself Tunde’s equal. What right did he have? Perhaps it was because they were of the same rank—but such arrogance.
Tunde was destined for greater things. His path was one of carnage and bloodshed, leading to the truth about his people, a fate that filth like Kurl could not hinder.
But how was that different from those who called him a wastelander?
The thought came unbidden, and Tunde shook his head. His aura vanished, leaving him alone in the dark tunnel, his glowing eyes locked on the deathly pale Corespawn.
“You’re no ordinary ranker,” Kurl said, swaying as he struggled to stand.
“Please, stop this,” Tunde pleaded.
“Please?” Kurl chuckled. “Your kind will beg when Jath brings down the wrath of the Corespawns. Our numbers are growing. Your lands will be washed clean in blood.”
“You’re dying. Surrender, and I’ll get you help,” Tunde offered.
The thought of peace seemed impossible, even to Tunde. The Corespawns had spilled innocent blood, and they both knew peace was beyond reach.
“Before I die, tell me—what are you?” Kurl asked, the ground trembling as he prepared another technique.
“A ranker,” Tunde whispered, as resonance began to swirl around his limbs, drawing from the rift energy within him.
“You are no ranker. You are something else—something I must end here, for the good of all Corespawns,” Kurl roared, launching his attack.
Sharp rock spikes shot from the ground, hovering around Kurl. Earth and rock Ethra filled the air, the most powerful of the natural elements seeking to crush Tunde. But his fist shot forward, resonance coiling like a spring before releasing in a deadly wave of power.
The explosion was catastrophic.
When the dust settled, nothing remained of Kurl but his lower half. The waist and legs of the Corespawn were all that stood in the ruins, collapsing to the ground as a large golden core rolled toward Tunde. He picked it up, allowing his void ring to swallow it in silence.
“I have no idea,” he muttered, turning from the scene and walking deeper into the mine.
************************************
Jath felt the death of Kurl, an unexplainable ache settling in his chest. He hadn't been as close to Uslog as he had been with the rock scale himself, and judging from the absence of information from the king of the skies, he had no doubt that he, too, had fallen to the adept of the clan. It puzzled him. No human adept would sneak through the tunnels to attack. Their egos wouldn’t allow it, as he had mentioned earlier.
Rankers loved to display their strength, especially adepts and above, wearing their blood-soaked hands like badges of honor. Tail lashing wildly, Jath turned to stare at the rift beacon that lit the skies above the remains of the stronghold. Pieces of rock continued to levitate, held together by a grotesque, fleshy substance, forming an adhesive to the structure. The revenants were coming. The building’s grotesque regeneration was proof of that. But Jath raged at how long it had taken them. He had lost two of his kin, two lieutenants who were as close as brothers, with nothing to show for it.
His mission had been to secure a foothold for those fleeing from the wasteland king, to find a home where they could rest. Now, all he had was the ashes of his kin. Jath Black Claw was no fool. He had slain a shadow panther as an early disciple and had the cunning instincts of the beast fused into his suspicious mind. The revenants had merely offered them a means to grow stronger quickly; nothing had been said about a permanent alliance. Not after their allies, the dust bandits, had been eradicated by the same Verdan clan whose mines Jath had just razed.
Perhaps that was why the cult had insisted this stronghold be the launch point for their invasion of the empire. A foolish cause, in his opinion. Even with all his rage, Jath knew it was suicidal to take on the combined might of the Talahan clan and the Heralds. Between them, the monsters masquerading as rankers could crush any opposing force. Still, the undeath cult had pariahs—rankers who had fallen to the allure of eternal decay disguised as immortality. Whatever their plans, the revenants wouldn’t move without thorough calculations.
The rift pulsed, drawing his attention as a figure stepped through. A thin, lithe man with white hair and dark grey-green eyes appeared, his belt adorned with interlocking bones holding his robes at the waist. Jath dropped to one knee, though his other nature screamed at the indignity. He was a shadow panther—royalty. And royalty knelt to no one. But Jath was smart enough to realize that royalty still bowed to an emperor. Though this adept wasn't quite that, he was far above Jath in rank, at least for now.
The revenant, with his neatly styled hair in a bun secured by a black pin carved with a symbol, stared down at Jath.
“Adept Kenji,” Jath said, his feline tone evident in his voice. "I bid you welcome to—"
“Disgraceful,” Kenji interrupted, his voice cold.
“I beg your pardon?” Jath growled, struggling to leash his aura.
“Were you so useless as to allow a single disciple to tear apart your plans?” Kenji continued, his voice dripping with contempt.
“Disciple? No, you’re mistaken,” Jath said firmly.
“Oh?” The revenant’s tone was mocking.
Jath's claws ached to unsheathe, to rip out the adept’s throat. But the cold light in Kenji’s eyes warned him otherwise.
“The Verdan clan sent an adept like you. He’s rampaging through the—” Jath began, but the revenant's mocking laugh cut him off.
“Adept? That child of the seekers?” Kenji sneered. “You call him an adept?”
Jath’s mind raced. He had no idea what a seeker was, but it seemed impossible for a disciple to have taken down his lieutenants so quickly. The terrible aura he had felt earlier—he had been certain it belonged to an adept. No disciple could exude such an overwhelming presence.
“No, you naïve little feline,” Kenji snarled. “Your people were killed by a single disciple—who not only slaughtered them but took two entire rift cores we invested considerable resources in.”
Jath dropped fully to his knees, hair standing on end as the adept's aura bore down on him. It felt as though decay itself was pressing its cold, rotting hand on him. He gritted his teeth, riding out the overwhelming pressure until Kenji relented.
“And now, no doubt, he comes for you. Retrieve the rift cores, Jath Black Claw,” Kenji ordered scornfully. “Or I promise you, the wrath of clan Talahan and Verdan will be the least of your concerns. This deal will be over.”
With that, Kenji stepped through the rift and vanished.
The rift beacon, still pouring energy into the sky, snapped shut. Jath roared in fury. A disciple? Kurl and Uslog had died at the hands of a single disciple? The thought nearly drove him mad with grief and rage. He vowed to tear that disciple apart, piece by piece, and feast on his heart as it still beat.
A sudden weight near his feet drew his attention. A rift core had been dropped by the adept. Realization dawned in his eyes.
Another chance.
He had been offered another chance to prove himself, to advance to the next stage of evolution, to become a beast king. Grabbing the core, Jath crushed it, inhaling the power as his body began to morph. Madness unfurled, but he clung to sanity by a thread, his hatred for the disciple his only anchor.
*************************
From the north, a fleet of ships from clan Verdan sped toward the rift beacon, filled with disciples and initiates. The high rankers aboard looked grimly ahead, their gazes locked on the distant glow of the rift incursion. Adepts prowled the decks, eager to be unleashed, while one figure sat silently, meditating.
Joran sensed the power in the wind, the hum of Ethra rippling through the air. He said nothing as he stared into the distance, accepting the truth that gnawed at him— they were too late. Silently berating himself, he wondered if he had overestimated Tunde’s strength. The boy hadn’t been ready for such a mission, and now, he had likely driven him to his death.
Lord Alaric stood beside him, his presence calming the adepts. Joran remained silent, both men gazing into the distance.
“I want you to know,” Alaric said softly, “that the clan will respect whatever his dying wish was.”
“He fought well,” Alaric continued.
“I knew he would,” Joran replied softly.
“And—” Alaric paused as the rift’s glow sputtered and died.
Joran sighed, a smile tugging at his lips. For a moment, just before the rift collapsed, he had sensed it—a faint, almost imperceptible resonance.
“And then again,” Joran said as Alaric turned to him in silence.
“He could still be there, fighting to show you all why I chose him,” Joran continued. “I will make the way for your arrival, if you would allow it.”
Alaric nodded lightly, and Joran stepped into the air. With a push of Ethra, he shot forward, racing toward his disciple.