Tunde’s senses told him the large brute figure wielding the maul was the more dangerous foe, and yet, something within him made him wary of the hermit with the Morningstar and an Ethra that bit at his senses.
[presence of the heretical light detected, proceed with extreme caution] Ifa wrote.
“a little too late for that, don’t you think?” he thought with distaste in his mouth.
The barbarian took one step forward.
“Oi, shiny monk, protect me,” he said with a feral grin before tearing towards Tunde.
Ethra sight took in his movement and his next move all at once in the space it took him to reach Tunde who still considered what the ‘heretical light’ meant. However, the overwhelming attack about to crash into him stole all his attention, not only did the barbarian-looking cultivator tower over him, but Tunde could actively see him drawing power from his concept that no doubt included an affinity of strength in it.
His maul swung through the air, wrapped in a red aura that took the shape of a snarling feline, crashing down on him. Imbuement technique in place, Tunde knew better than to take the attack head-on, simply parrying it as he attempted to cut through the thick tendons of the brute, watching as a layer of aura took shape around the brash figure.
“Nothing can cut through beast’s resilience!” he said, dragging his maul back in an uppercut to shatter Tunde’s jaw.
He bent out of the way, eyeing the wicked spike on the maul’s end before twisting through the air, Ethra sight informing him about the build-up of the same nauseating Ethra coming from the hermit whose Morningstar swung from its chain, the hermit raising one hand at him; as if targeting him.
Tunde watched as lances of golden Ethra took shape, firing at his position as if to skewer him. Ethra spheres manifested, slamming into the attacks as he turned again, narrowly getting smashed with the full might of the maul, the barbarian laughing in full glee. His robes flapping through the air, Tunde gathered Ethra discs around him, preparing to unleash a full-scale attack when a limb made of the raw gold Ethra manifested, slamming into him with full force as his very insides burned, Tunde screaming in silent agony.
He crashed into the ground, his screen blinking to life.
[concept of the heretical light is attempting to attack your soul, attempt cleansing?] it asked.
“Yes!” Tunde screamed.
His essence flame blazed to life within him like an inferno the same moment the maul crashed into his ribs, his imbuement technique doing its best to preserve him as he shot backward, spitting blood. The barbarian was on him, Tunde fighting a desperate battle for his life even as he watched the hermit employ his dominion technique, a sphere of golden Ethra circling them, painting everything in its golden light.
Tunde struggled to his knees, his senses screaming at him as he ducked, avoiding a blow from the maul that would have crushed his head to a pulp, blood leaking from the cuts all over his body.
[essence flame is purifying hidden aspect of the heretical light’s power, absorbing it] Ifa wrote.
Tunde tuned it out, focusing on the battle that took everything he had, Ethra strike, sphere, and discs, tearing through the space the barbarian was, Tunde’s void edges imbued with void touch, the technique triggering continuously as Tunde found himself gradually being weakened. The barbarian snarled, his body wreathed in his feline-shaped aura as he released his dominion technique as well, Tunde regretting not having his.
Hobbling on his feet, he stared down at void edge, its edges seemingly chipped, a slow degradation of the adept tier weapon, as was to be expected. He sent them away, angry with the means he was to be forced to, aware that the battle had gone from challenging to life and death.
He stretched his right hand out, speaking softly.
“Come, fang” he whispered.
The relic reacted at that moment, taking the shape he had in his mind’s eye as the dominion around him trembled slightly with its presence. A large war hammer, its pure black metal glittering with inscriptions Tunde still didn’t understand, only the urge to crush his foes coming from it. He stared at the brute who stared at him cautiously, Tunde nodding, this was not an enemy to cut, sometimes you just needed to crush the obstacles in front of you.
************************
The executioner felt it the moment the weapon manifested, a deep-seethed hatred coming from his concept within him, something of a primal rage lashing out within him. Eyes wide in confusion, he gathered his imbuement technique around him, sending a whisper through the air to the barbarian.
“Be careful, something is strange about that weapon,” he said.
He watched the carefree nature of the barbarian become guarded, the executioner beginning to draw talismans of binding from his void ring, aware that their target’s aura had suddenly become still; like something within him had been unleashed. The aura of the lord came out in black and white wisps, the executioner finding it strange that a lord of such skills hadn’t managed to shape his aura yet into a reflection of their inner selves.
It gave him a moment of hope that their prey was not all that he had expected, that maybe, somehow, the serpent had fallen due to either his own hubris or a stroke of blind luck. Either way, he watched the reckoner gather his Ethra technique again, raw feline affinity molded in a rough yet effective link with strength Ethra to become something akin to a technique filled with raw wrath.
And yet, as the reckoner swung his maul with restrained glee, the executioner’s senses screamed at him in terror.
*******************************
Tunde let the full might of the relic swing through the air, the sheer weight of the weapon somehow impressed on reality around him. It felt like a boulder, an impossible mountain so heavy, he wondered why the weight almost crushed his hands, and yet, it was his own weapon. He watched it crash against the technique of the brute, watched it shatter it into motes of Ethra in the blink of an eye before crashing into the chest of the cultivator with a sickening crunch.
All of a sudden, Tunde felt a chill pass through his insides, eyes wide as he realized just how much of his essence flames he had infused into the hammer, the raw force of whatever those flames did shattering the cultivator both on the outside and on the inside as well. The brute crashed to the ground with a sickening sound, his chest caved inside and eyes bulging.
Tunde let the relic dissipate as he cycled his Ethra continually, not allowing the brute any chances as he dashed in for the kill, Ethra spheres tearing across the skies towards the executioner whose projection techniques clashed with his as well, knowing better than to give him a wide berth.
A loud gong resonated through the air, a golden glow settling on the brute whose body had begun to heal rapidly, his caved chest visibly repairing itself right before his eyes. That was, until Tunde stabbed one void edge through his throat, his once grinning face turning into horror. One void touch before the lord could speak and his head exploded off his body, showering him in gore as Tunde grabbed the body, obliterating it as well, his relic absorbing what was left of the Ethra in the air.
*********************
The executioner stared down at him with an ugly wrathful expression, rage in his eyes as he removed the large beads from his neck, the bright brown item bursting into individual golden balls of light, circling behind him as he clapped his hands together.
“The wastelands do indeed breed abominations, I do the empire a great service today,” he said.
Tunde gave no reply, wiping blood off his face with the back of his hands before taking a stance, the other void edge in his other hand. His Ethra riled within him as he poured it through the blades, making them extensions of his will, watching as the dominion of the hermit glowed to like with thousands upon thousands of light spears, taking shape even as the two large golden hands appeared behind the hermit.
The aura of the lord grew to heights untold, pressing down on Tunde whose face remained cold, impassive, as if staring at an insect that should be smacked down for buzzing around.
And it infuriated the hermit to no end.
The morning star in his hand glowed, its spiked ball head humming with unleashed power as the hermit spoke again.
“Your taint will be washed from reality,” he said in an almost pious tone.
Again, Tunde gave no reply, merely calculating his odds, Ethra sight burning Ethra even as the raw power of the hermit stung his eyes badly, making them water. He gathered void touch, void spheres filling the air as well as discs, their power, preparing for the onslaught of attacks between the both of them.
One flick of the hermit’s wrist and golden Ethra lances rained down on him with the wrath of a lord, Tunde’s spheres rising through the air with uncontrolled fury, the two of them preparing to clash amidst their attacks. He watched the Morningstar scream towards him as well as the golden hands that seemed to press down on him from within, making it hard for him to breathe.
His cycling technique pushed through, Tunde blazing with raw Ethra, his aura quivering through the air between the both of them, the executioner’s eyes ablaze with power. Ethra strike tore through the attack with raw power, smashing into the executioner whose golden beads smashed into Tunde in turn, driving him straight into the ground with force. He felt the Ethra tear through his system, burning him from within even as his relic seemed to drink in the worst of it, his eyes alight with agony.
The air around them roiled with Ethra, the dominion of the lord shattering into shards of Ethra that dissipated through the air. Tunde clenched one of his hands into a fist, struggling through the pain as the bead disintegrated into ashes, its lethal power now nullified within him at a great cost. All he could feel was pain, puking blood as he got to his knees, struggling to get up, his sight on the figure in front of him who stared at him with wide eyes and then at the blade stabbed straight through his chest.
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The hermit puked blood, as if unbelieving of what he saw before crashing to his knees, Morningstar at his side. An attempt to speak saw his entire upper half explode in a shower of gore, Tunde raising one hand to shield his face, the bright sunlight pouring down on him. Figures could be seen in the distance, Tunde’s sight dizzy as he could audibly hear himself breathe, his heart painfully cycling Ethra.
[you have assimilated & converted a vital aspect of the heretical light]
[+10 to the following skills: strength, agility, constitution]
[essence flame [ember] has absorbed vital aspect of the heretical light]
He took a deep breath as pressure was suddenly released in his chest, a breath of fresh air even as he felt the essence flames that were about to sputter out, trying to rise to his feet.
“Easy,” a voice said, Tunde feeling two hands raise him with his shoulders up, staggering to his feet, face bloodied.
He stared at Isolde and Giselle whose broken arm seemed to have been healed, concern on their faces. Turning his gaze to the lower torso of the hermit, he felt strength returning to his limbs as he managed to stagger towards the body, blood soaking the very ground around it. Stopping next to it, he stared at the gory sight, crouching even as his head seemed to pound with a heavy headache.
Tunde picked up the silver void ring, tucking it into his robes, aware of Isolde and Giselle staring at him from behind.
“Did they tell you anything when they attacked?” he asked softly.
“No, the brute one kept screaming at us to bring you out while the hermit simply watched,” Isolde said softly.
“I shudder just thinking what they would have done had you not arrived” Giselle added.
Tunde winced a little, feeling the remnants of the hermit’s attack biting his insides, his mouth dry. He nodded, making his way towards the ship, his Ethra lines strained to their limits. Tunde glanced again at the chipped blades, regret in his eyes that he had damaged the weapons Draven had put so much work into just beautifying.
Still, he accepted a weapon was a weapon, besides, it wasn’t soulbound, and it had done its best against lord-rank weapons that the three killers had wielded. Coaxing his Ethra, he floated towards the swan, landing on its deck as the disciples and initiates around bowed at him in part awe and concern. Tunde realized he looked bloodied, turning to Giselle and Isolde who were aboard the ship as well.
“Contact the baron, inform him that we had a slight delay but we’re on our way,” he said.
“And you?” Giselle asked.
“Might as well inform the Highlord and rest, something tells me this won’t be the last attack” he replied.
“Then we should make all haste back to black rock” Isolde cut in.
“And lose out on our supplies?, no, we forge ahead, we get those supplies and we make it back to black rock” he countered.
“I agree,” Giselle said.
“Did you see how close he came to dying?” Isolde asked her.
“The fight was too fast for me to follow, but I believe so” she replied.
Isolde turned to him, her one eye glaring at him.
“Let me know what the Highlord says,” she said.
Tunde snorted.
“You should know him by now, probably inform me to seek out what other assassin wants me dead and to test myself against them” he replied.
“Either that or he simply wouldn’t care” Giselle muttered.
Tunde nodded, retiring to his room where he took off his clothes, already feeling his lord-tier Ethra beginning to heal his body rapidly, sitting on the ground with a wince, grabbing the circular communication construct, running Ethra through it, and waiting for Varis to answer.
The Highlord looked to have been sleeping, dreary eyes taking in Tunde as he spoke.
“This had better be, “ he started, pausing with wide eyes before laughing.
“What sort of trouble did you run into this time?” he asked, enjoying the sight too much in Tunde’s opinion.
“Assassins, three” Tunde replied.
“they’re all dead, I presume?” Varis asked.
“Yes, Highlord”
Varis raised an eyebrow, yawning in the process.
“And you didn’t consider the fact that you might want to keep one alive for questioning?” he asked.
Tunde refrained from letting the weariness of the situation reflect in his voice, speaking calmly.
“The situation then was not favorable for me to attempt to hold back” he replied.
Varis sat straight, rubbing his beard.
“I see, explain” he ordered.
Tunde started with the first, a shadow and venom affinity user, then the barbarian with strength and some sort of animal affinity before ending with the hermit, watching as the Highlord’s expression became cold.
“And you’re sure he mentioned the word Astradriel?” he asked.
“Over and over” Tunde replied.
“Cults and their meddling,” he said quietly.
Tunde watched him ponder it, wondering what was going through the Highlord’s mind before speaking.
“Pardon me, venerable Highlord, but I have a question” he started.
“You want to know if I was the one that sent them after you” Varis replied, glancing at Tunde with cool eyes.
Tunde stiffened, staring down the Highlord without a word being uttered for a few seconds before nodding. Varis sighing.
“In as much as I am flattered that you would think so highly of me” Varis started.
Tunde doubted that was the reason, not that he even thought highly of the Highlord.
“You really think I’d waste my resources on hiring half-baked assassins to come kill you when I could just as much simply snap your neck?” he asked.
Now that was the Highlord he remembered.
“No, and even if I did, they would know better than to come up against you individually” Varis added.
“It seems, young dark fist, that you might have offended someone powerful enough and with deep pockets to put a price on your head” he chuckled.
Tunde said nothing, merely staring at Varis through the communication construct.
“Nevertheless, your mission remains the same, head to the borders, pick up the resources you need, and make sure you don’t get killed” he ordered.
Tunde bowed to him.
“From your lips to my heart Highlord” he replied.
“Oh, and get some rest will you,” Varis said.
“Something tells me that you’ll need it by the time you get to the location” he ended cryptically before cutting the communication.
***************************
The moment Tunde’s face disappeared from the screen; Varis found himself contacting another person he didn’t imagine himself ever trying to talk with. In fact, she was half the reason why he left the capital, to get away from her needless disturbances. It was with a sigh he stared into the female replica of his face.
“Do my eyes deceive me, or am I staring at Varis?” she asked, black lipstick glinting even on the call.
Black hair with strands of white, tied into a bun with a black pin styled with flames at its tip, holding the hair together. Varis crossed his arms, a delicate frown on his face.
“Hello sister” he replied.
“Big sister, there’s a distinction you know,” she said lightly.
“I’ll remember that for future purposes”
She gave a light laugh, something Varis knew better than to trust, watching as she realigned herself on her chair.
“So, how goes your holiday?” she asked.
“It’s a mission from the patriarch himself” Varis replied gratingly.
“Yes, yes, of utmost importance, the defense of a border we hardly remembered till now, quite the noble duty I believe,” she said.
Varis’s eye twitched in annoyance, something he was sure she noticed judging by the smirk on her face.
“We all must serve the clan in whatever capacity we can, even if while some of us are fighting back what is beginning to look like the peak of the surge” she added.
Varis’s expression changed.
“How bad will it be?” he asked.
“we’ve been able to get in contact with an arcanist sent to us by their queen, it doesn’t look pretty” she admitted.
“Do I need to come back?” he asked.
Her gaze grew cold.
“Do not assume we cannot handle ourselves in your absence, little brother,” she said.
Varis found it futile to argue that he had only been concerned about family, but then again, theirs had never been an emotional one, no clan could hold half the continent by being sentimental, even to family.
He nodded shortly, aware of the hidden message between her words. Rhaelar Talahan was a force of nature unto herself, already at the rank of master, her skill in battle was indeed legendary. Varis went on to the topic of his call.
“I need a favor,” he asked.
Wincing as he watched her eyes come alive.
“Oh?” she started.
“But of course, anything for you, little brother” she replied.
“I want you to look into a merchant clan within our borders, the Ramu clan,” he said.
Her eyebrow went up.
“That’s an influential name you just mentioned, why?” she asked.
“Mother informed me of some assassins heading towards the Wastelands, something about a big bounty here” he started.
“Turns out it was on a lord I have my eyes on”
“I see, must be some lord,” she remarked.
“Wiped out three assassins in the space of a day with nothing more than flesh wounds” Varis replied.
“Is that pride or smugness I hear in your voice?” Rhaegal asked with a glint in her eyes.
“I’m quite curious to meet this lord of yours” she added.
Varis frowned.
“that’s not the point, the point is, they got here faster than I’d assume they would” he replied.
“And?” she asked.
“The only way they could have gotten here, was if they came ahead with transport, and the only sky vessel willing to come here, was the one I ordered from the consortium with supplies” he finished.
Rhaegal sat up completely, Varis seeing the reason they called her the huntress of clan Talahan, her gaze focused on him.
“You think Baron Crispin works for the brotherhood?” she asked.
“I never told you his name nor my suspicion of his affiliation” Varis responded.
“Please,” Rhaegal said with a snort.
“You really think you’d use the clan’s name for something like that and I wouldn’t know about it?” she asked.
Varis accepted her point, nodding gently as he waited for her reaction.
“If this is true, not only would a noble clan fall under the scrutiny of the empire, it could lead to their downfall if true,” she said carefully.
“Sometimes, examples must be made of those who overreach their stations” Varis responded.
A large smile broke out on Rhaegal’s face, Varis had literally given her what she wanted, the brotherhood, an organization she had been after for a long time.
“I must say, this is quite the gift you have afforded me,” she said.
“I trust you’re satisfied?” he asked.
He watched her face go from a smile to a cunning one, his guard raised.
“I wouldn’t say that” she started.
“After all, this is quite the accusation you want me to level on a noble house, you do realize they own an entire city just north of the capital right?” she asked.
Varis sighed, it would have been easy to just get one of his contacts within the capital to do the sneaking around, but something told him Rhaegal was expecting that and would have clamped down on one of the people he had so gently cultivated for his use. He stared at her.
“What do you want?” he asked.
She picked at her perfectly manicured nails, polished black, Varis had seen her tear out the throat of a Highlord when he was younger, the memory still sticking in his head to date.
“Nothing much really, see, turns out uncle, is hosting some sort of mini competition” she started.
Varis narrowed his eyes at her.
“And I would so much like to see this lord of yours there” she finished.
For a few seconds, he stared at her.
“Not possible” he replied.
“Why would that be?” she asked.
“Because I doubt he’d survive long enough to make it to your tournament, seeing as we’re about to face a master of the wasteland” he replied.
“Ah, true, a pity,” she said wistfully.
“Either way, should he by some reason or stroke of fate survive, then I would expect him or her, at the tournament,” she said.
“What is this really about?” Varis asked.
Rhaegal shot him a look of innocence/
“Can’t I take delight in raising the next Highlords and powers of our empire?” she asked.
“No, you could care less” he replied bluntly.
Rhaegal gave a loud laugh, Varis folding his hands together.
“it’s almost time brother, things are about to get really bloody,” she said.
Varis froze.
“You mean……” he said as she nodded.
“Indeed, just in time for the convergence” she added.
He shut his eyes, taking a deep breath as his core swirled to life, opening his eyes.
“Then we have a deal” he replied.
“Agreed, oh, and what are you waiting for exactly?” she asked.
“The right moment” he responded as she laughed again, the device shutting off from her side.
Varis tossed it to one side, cracking his neck as he began to meditate, cycling his Ethra.
“The right moment” he muttered again.