The attacks came fast and unpredictable, Tunde weaving Ethra out of thin air to catch his projection technique was harder said than done. Over and over, he found himself on the ground, frustration biting at his mind as he slowly began to get faster at gathering his Ethra just outside of his body, cutting down the attacks from the holes with near-perfect precision. The mage hadn’t appeared any longer, leaving Tunde to repeat his attempts all by himself, repeating his steps outside of the test spot, aware time was slowly ticking away.
His strikes came faster and harder, his Ethra flowing smoothly as Tunde began to really grow accustomed to shaping his Ethra into a ball, the easiest form available, and releasing it in the blink of an eye. Soon enough, he was on the spot again, midnight starry Ethra forming around him as he cut down every attack before they met him, his body pushing itself to the near limit.
The mage appeared again.
“Well done,” she said.
“You have become an accomplished projection cultivator, later stages would see you using your mind to form and project techniques without the use of your hands, but that is far above the realm of a disciple” she continued.
“Ten attacks will come at you now, this is a test of speed, decision as well as reaction, your final grade will be given on how many you can stop, deflect, or dodge while standing on one spot, good luck disciple” she finished as she vanished.
Tunde was already cycling Ethra, his projection forming when all ten holes fired at once. All ten affinities shooting at him as he became a blur, fire, and lightning shot towards the same position, the light of the crackling power of the skies attempting to blind him. He followed the vibrations of the Ethra in the air, one attack exploding the moment it came in contact with the flame and lightning attacks, the second attack crashing against the ice attack that exploded, glancing off the water attack that triggered as well.
He was a blur, dancing in between the other attacks that narrowly dodged his skin, Tunde coating his hands with Ethra and deflecting the scalding hot lava Ethra that sizzled away to nothingness. Panting slightly, he stood straight, heart beating wildly, the collar on his neck sending shocks to his body as he imbued his hands with Ethra and grabbed the collar, willing himself to absorb the Ethra within it. He felt stupid, glancing at the holes and wondering why he hadn’t simply absorbed the Ethra of the attacks, then he realized he might have been able to absorb one or two, but in the end, he would inevitably fall.
What he needed was an efficient manner of absorbing multiple attacks, allowing him to focus on his opponents. The collar squealed within his grip as he drained it of its lightning Ethra, his relic humming softly, the power running into its frame. The collar snapped at once, Tunde discarding it as he rubbed his sore throat, facing the door that had refused to open, somehow, despite getting past the attacks, he hadn’t passed the test. Frustration and anger danced within his chest as he took a deep breath and stepped out of the test zone, closing his eyes and reclining on the floor.
He could stop attacks, and his projection technique was slowly shaping up to be something good, it was still rough and rudimentary, but it was something. And yet, Tunde wondered if creating a stop-gap method wouldn’t come back to bite him later on down the line, but he had reached the limit of his speed, or at least, he assumed he had. Sighing, he began rotating aura around his body, preparing to add his Ethra into specific points when a thought came to him.
Snapping open his eyes, he got up, moving to the test area as he tried something out, Ethra flowed out of him, rotating around him in the crack of a second as the holes shot out attacks. His sight saw the vibrations and Tunde moved with all his speed; fire slammed into his rotating Ethra that rapidly drained his heart as he allowed it to continue swirling around him. Then he watched as the other attacks slammed into his sphere, threatening to shatter it, and yet, bit by bit, they were drained of their power, Tunde directing said Ethra back into his body.
It had strained him, Tunde falling to his knees again as the sphere vanished along with the attacks, the mage appearing once again in front of him.
“There is nothing left to teach you, well-done disciple, you may pass on to the next test,” she said as she vanished.
The rumbling of the doors drew Tunde’s attention as he got to his feet, his mind strained. The final test was to be one of the mind and he was in no position right now to take it, rather, he moved towards Shadowfang, grabbing the axe as he retreated to a corner, sitting down, and closing his eyes. He needed to rest, if the second trial had given him this much trouble, he wondered just how crazy the last trial would be.
***********************
Seated within his home within the jade towers district, Joran played host to a group of guests, the palpable tension in the room that came from the curious yet hesitant looks its members gave the elder. Miria, the ink lady of the tyrant’s district sighed as she glanced at the yellow-haired ranker with a silver metal arm, Elyria as she was called. Lady Ryka sat with a serene expression, a light paper fan in her hand as she waited for the elder to speak.
Joran merely hummed softly to himself, rapping his fingers against the wooden table in front of him. To call the elder’s living quarters bland would be an understatement, looking like he barely even saw the insides of the large building and area the clan had given him as one of their three great elders. It spoke to his simple nature, and yet, reminded them that even though he was an elder of the clan, little was known of his origins truly. The elder paused his rapping, cocking his head as he spoke.
“Ah, they’re here,” he said.
The door opened to admit five people, Isolde with her eyepatch followed closely behind by her better half, the bulky Draven. Behind them were Harun the third early-tiered disciple of the house as well as Giselle, who was also a disciple of the house, the last figure though, wasn't one that was really associated with the house itself.
A tall lanky figure with an oiled beard and sleek hair, dressed in rich voluminous robes that were trimmed with gold inlaid with silk. Miria raised her eyebrow at the man who scoffed at her presence before flourishing into a bow at the sight of Elder Joran.
“It brings me great honor to be in your presence, esteemed venerable elder Joran,” the man said with as much pomp as he could, Miria snorting.
“Although it pains me to see the elder in the company of certain, ah, misfits,” he said, glancing at Miria.
“You have a death wish?” the ink affinity ranker replied smoothly, the tattoos on her skin dancing around.
“peace” elder Joran said softly.
“Thank you for honoring my call, Steward Cyrus” Elder Joran added.
“a thousand times over, I would run at the call of the blind tiger of clan Verdan” Cyrus responded.
“Subservience from the golden baron of the entertainment district?, my oh my, times do have changed,” Miria said with a chuckle as Lady Ryka sighed with a frown.
“I could have your tongue for that” Cyrus snarled.
“The only thing you’ll be having is the perfectly disced bodies of your goons should they step one foot- “
“Miria” elder Joran said, cutting her off softly.
His presence loomed over them, a brooding menace that made them all shiver, the disciples feeling the weight pressing down on their souls.
“If I wanted to watch you two bicker, then we wouldn’t be here, would we?” he asked again.
“No, apologies great elder” Cyrus croaked.
Miria nodded hastily as well as the presence vanished, both she and Cyrus heaving a sigh of relief.
“Great!, now that we’re all friends again, why don’t we get to why I called you all here?” he said.
No one said anything, merely listening to him.
“As you all know, we have less than a day for Tunde’s fight with Thalas Verdan, Cyrus, what are people saying about the battle?” he asked.
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“a complete beat down” Cyrus replied immediately, all eyes on him.
The peak disciple-ranked baron continued.
“They respect the strength of the wa-, ah, your student,” he said, correcting himself.
“But Thalas Verdan ranks number two, a certified skull crusher as you know him to once be called, he’s one of the future pillars of the clan, to even assume that he might fall would be presumptuous” he finished.
“Despite all Tunde has done?’ lady Ryka asked.
“The people of Jade Peak recognize his rise, don’t get me wrong” Cyrus started.
“But they don’t expect him to last against a Scion of house Verdan,” Draven said, crossing his arms.
“And yet,” Harun started, speaking for the first time.
“He rose up the ranks to mid-tier disciple in less than a month” he finished.
“Again, true, but when it comes to betting, no one in their right mind would place money on Tunde against Thalas,” Cyrus said, shaking his head.
“I’m inclined to prove you wrong,” Miria said with a smile.
Cyrus flicked his eyes to the elder first and then her.
“It would be your lumens that enter my pockets, not the other way around” he replied.
“Five hundred thousand lumens,” Elder Joran said as the room became quiet.
“Pardon me,” Cyrus said slowly.
“But did you just say five hundred?” he asked.
“Indeed, on my disciple’s head, to win, of course,” Joran continued with his beaming smile.
“that’s a stretch, even you venerable elder” Lady Ryka said with concern.
“Consider it a risky investment going towards house dark fist” Joran replied.
“And if he loses?’ Giselle asked.
“Then an acceptable but grievous loss” Joran answered with a shrug.
“Venerable elder, I want you to reconsider what you are about to attempt,” Cyrus said.
“Funny, I thought you’d jump at the offer,” Joran said.
“I would be inclined to, but I will not lose the favor of a venerable elder” Cyrus replied.
“You won’t also, leak it out to trusted sources, let it get around that I put said amount on him” Joran added.
“You intend to rile up the betting rings,” Isolde said.
“Nothing like a promised duel to rake in money for the entertainment district, if anything, I’m doing the clan a huge favor,” Joran said, laughing to himself.
“Then I place three thousand lumens,” Lady Ryka said.
“Granted, the odds placed on Tunde is at five to one as of this morning, I still wouldn’t recommend it" Cyrus urged.
"a hundred lumens,” Draven said as Isolde smacked his shoulder.
“What?, it’s the least we can do for him” Draven protested.
“Apart from lining your pockets” she countered.
Draven shrugged as she rolled her eyes at him, a soft smile on her face.
“Two hundred lumens,” Miria said.
“I might not be able to match the pockets of the elder, but I’m playing my part, he better not lose,” she said with a smile.
“Why?, feeling guilty all of a sudden?” lady Ryka asked, a tinge of bitterness in her voice.
“No, because we share the same roots, and he intrigues me, not everything revolves around you” Miria responded smoothly.
Draven and the rest of the disciples narrowed their gaze at her.
“Take that back,” he said.
Elder Joran coughed, cooling the simmering tensions.
“I see you all have decided to follow through with your plans, yes?” Cyrus asked.
“indeed” elder Joran replied.
“Very well, and you give me the assurance that no matter the result, the entertainment district and I in extension would still enjoy your favor, venerable elder?” Cyrus asked.
“yes” Joran responded.
“Then it is decided, as it stands, five to one odd, no doubt it would fall when news spreads overnight, but I believe in being fair, even to unworthy recipients as well” Cyrus finished, turning to Miria who waggled her fingers at him.
“Great!, oh, and before I forget,” Joran said, all gaze turning to him.
“How does dark wolf sound?” he asked with a smile as Lady Ryka groaned.
************************
Tunde woke up from his slumber feeling refreshed, taking a swing of his waterskin as he got to his feet, Shadowfang in hand. He stared at the final room in the distance in silence, taking a deep breath before he walked towards it. The holes on the walls had gone dormant, no longer of use, and yet, Tunde began to feel the subtle trickle of dread worming up the back of his mind as he shook his head, steeling himself. He had passed through the first two trials and survived; this would be nothing as well.
The moment he stepped into the room, darkness covered his gaze, so thick and black that not even Ethra sight could pierce through it. He lost his sense of direction, touch, and sight all at once, turning around, or at least, he thought he did so.
“Welcome, disciple, to the final and true trial,” a slippery-sounding voice said from the darkness.
Another conjured ranker?, Tunde said nothing, waiting for it to go on.
“You have honed your strength and reflexes, now, you must hone your mind as well” the voice continued.
“Willpower and mental strength are as important to any cultivator as the body is,” the voice said.
“Here, you will either break and die, or come out as tempered steel” the voice snarled.
“Willpower is linked to just how strong your soul would be, but for an insignificant disciple such as yourself, merely resisting the taste of a true dominion could split your soul or reforge it and in turn, your aura as well, for to be able to resist the dominion of a ranker is to pierce through their version of existence” the harsh voice explained.
Tunde readied himself, allowing his aura to leak out of him in a sphere when he felt his surroundings shift and staggered in shock. His body and mind screamed at him to run even as he barely remained sane due to his aura shielding him, it was a realm of nightmares, unspeakable horrors, and grotesque shapes all looming at him. Reality bent in impossible angles, leering faces filled with malice and crackling laughter that sounded like the screams of hundreds of tortured souls.
His sanity began to peel at its edges as he crashed to his knees, shuddering, feeling his very being slowly being pulled apart, watching as his skin seemingly began to stretch, his eyes watering. He slammed his eyes shut, breathing raggedly, he retreated into himself, tuning out the madness that had caught him off guard, a steadily building pressure coming from his chest. It wasn’t physical, it was like something or someone for that matter was pressing down on his very being.
His mind was a place of grey-colored existence, Tunde losing himself in his few treasured memories as he began to see the telltale signs of the horrors creeping into his inner sanctuary. Baleful red eyes poked through the weakness in his mind as Tunde roared, feeling the nascent yet primal mind of Shadowfang add its strength to his. He was scared, who wouldn’t?, whatever Ethra affinity the owner of this dominion practiced, Tunde hoped to find him and kill him, it wasn’t normal.
And yet, tearing apart his mind hadn’t been enough for whatever that man was, he had assaulted what last few vestiges of happiness Tunde had, and he wasn’t a toothless predator. He roused himself, imagining his mind like a burning fire, black flames burning around him as he sent it out, scorching the creatures that screamed in pain, angry eyes swirling at him as they pressed down more on his mind and soul at once. He stood his ground, better he died than to let them desecrate this place, he and Shadowfang.
**************************
It began as a flicker in his soul, the ranker who had no idea the first vestiges of the shape his soul took began to form gradually. It took the shape of yellow vertically slit pupils that stared down the horrors that assaulted it, watching as strands of corruption slithered towards its space.
The large white sharp canines appeared and with the soul opening its mouth, it spilt a wave of condescending power, a fraction of what was to later become its strength. The tendrils burnt as they recoiled in obvious fright, the power of the ranker, shriveling them up as they poured in more numbers hoping to overwhelm the soul.
*******************************
To the outside world, mere minutes had passed, but within his mind and soul, Tunde fought a never-ending battle that kept going on for eternity. For one attack he repelled, two took its place, and yet, he managed to just stand above the tide, swinging his imagined Shadowfang, the weapon’s sentient presence itself holding back more of the creatures lest they overwhelmed him. Slowly, a difference began to show, his mind easing its strain as power slowly trickled into it, power stolen from the dead attackers themselves.
Mind and soul, suddenly invigorated as the tide of battle began to shift in his favor, pushing into the attacking dominion with raw determination and power, Shadowfang singing its howl of the hunt in his blood as Tunde’s soul waxed stronger and stronger, his willpower holding him up even as itself grew stronger as well.
Tunde snapped open his eyes with a deep breath, panting as sweat soaked his body, blinking to see the darkness had disappeared. A figure in a black hooded robe stood in the corner as Tunde was up, Shadowfang swinging through the air, passing harmlessly through the figure who chuckled.
“No doubt, you attempted to harm my projected self just now,” he said.
“Great, a recording” Tunde murmured with distaste.
His mind felt both tired and strong at the same time, like he could go another round but would honestly not advise it. The figure continued speaking.
“What you just faced, is a soul attacking dominion” he started.
“Rather than restricting your body, it attempts to confuse your mind and soul, leading a cultivator to be hysterical in battle, leading inevitably to their deaths” he continued.
“Few practice this deadly method, and yet, you have survived, perhaps there’s more to you than meet the eyes, child of Verdan” the voice finished, vanishing.
“That’s it?” Tunde grumbled.
No explanations of how far he’d come, Tunde made a note to find out what sect or group the ranker had belonged to. The entire chamber rumbled as Tunde watched the final door open, revealing a stone stairs that led upwards, hesitantly climbing it, he made it to the top, standing in front of a door that he opened, sunlight spilling into his eyes.
He groaned, shielding his gaze.
“Congratulations, my student,” elder Joran’s voice said as Tunde blinked rapidly to see the figure of the man in front of him.
“Elder?” he asked disbelievingly.
“You made it to the end of the trials, much faster than I anticipated, yet with enough time for you to rest,” Elder Joran said, tossing a sack at him.
Tunde caught it.
“Rest?” he asked.
“Yes, in three hours' time, when the sun is about to set, you will face Thalas Verdan in the sacred fighting grounds of the clan,” the elder said formerly.
Tunde blinked.
“I don’t understand, we had two more days,” he said.
“I told you, the trials aren’t easy” elder Joran replied.
Had he spent an entire day in the last trial?, just how long was he out of it?. Trying to wrap his head around it, he watched figures coming from the distance, eyes wide.
“Your house comes to watch, Tunde” elder Joran said as they both watched the figures of Elyria, lady Ryka, and the rest making their way to them.