“Invulnerability. Truth be told, even I am unsure of its limits. I cannot bleed and I cannot stagger, but what of non-physical afflictions? Lorelai would be really upset about this if she knew, but truth be told, I’ve experimented a bit with my body. Toxins, parasites…I even asked Simon to attack me with some sorceries in order to discern just where The Monarch’s Wings’ domain lies, and thus far, none have managed to affect me. Heh, if the previous Kings could see me now they’d call me a madman, but this must be done. If something were to happen to me because of my complacency, then everyone would suffer from my incompetence. I will not let myself be blindsided by the unknown.”

King Ascalon, Ruler of Polus

———

Ascalon

Ascalon bursts into the room and comes face to face with the man responsible for all this madness. Or rather, what remains of him.

The room is larger than any he’s seen thus far, and occupying its space is a large cloud of Niflheim surrounding the emaciated corpse of the Nox commander. His armor lies corroded on the floor while multiple machines whir and spurn mindlessly around him.

Is this it? No, it can’t be. After all that effort, all those abominations created, he chooses to end his life here? Ascalon clenches his fist, disgusted at Nokron’s cowardice. To think he would run away from his responsibility after all he’s done…how revolting.

But, at the very least, no further harm will come to anyone else. The siege is over; they’ve won.

Ascalon sighs, conflicted about his bittersweet victory, and walks into the gas. His brain tingles a bit from its attempts at enfeeblement, but ultimately his body remains unaffected by its time-reversing properties.

Nonetheless, he can feel the torment and agony of countless memories screaming amidst the haze. Remnants of their suffering are permanently etched onto the tainted aura, and although the dead are gone, he can’t help but feel crestfallen at such cruel manipulation. Cosmos’s gift of Creation isn’t meant for this. Aura is innocent; it should have never been corrupted to this extent, and that’s why he must ensure that no such gas will ever be produced again. He’ll destroy those machines and end this once and for all.

He stands in front of the chugging steel and raises his blade up high. He-

“Now, now, we can’t have that,” a voice suddenly pierces through the mist. “Their use is not yet finished. I still require more.”

Ascalon is knocked back by an invisible force and crashes straight into the wall. Something attacks him, but how? There’s not a single presence in this room, nor is there any traces of aura besides the gas.

And that voice…but, that’s impossible. His corpse is right there staring at him. What madness is this?

“Nokron?” Ascalon exclaims as he rises from the ground. “H-How? What have you done!?”

An eerie chuckle rings around him. “Why, I have ascended.”

The Niflheim in front of Ascalon begins to swirl and harden, gathering onto a single spot and forming into a humanoid shape. In an instant, Nokron’s image manifests from the gas—his body covered in a nauseating pale-green—and steps forth into the world once more. His figure is transparent, immaterial, as if he has now truly become a specter.

“I am no longer bound to this prison we call flesh. Now, I have truly become one with Creation. I have become one with aura itself.”

“No, you have abandoned your humanity,” Ascalon says.

“Is that what you truly think? Is ‘humanity’ only defined by one’s appearance? No, humanity is our will. Our conviction. Our consciousness. Flesh is but a vessel in which we store our soul, but it is not what makes us human.

“In a way, my ascension is all in due thanks to you, Ascalon, and your army.” His voice is spiteful, mocking, but it also contains a slight tone of genuine gratitude. “I was too negligent, too complacent with my corporeal form, to move onto the next stage of my zenith. I called myself time’s master, and yet I was too afraid to commit myself wholly to it. It was only when I stared straight into death’s all-consuming maw that I realized the futility of my hesitation.”

He plays with the gas around him, twirling it into whimsical shapes and figures. His demeanor is different from before, almost childlike in a way. The anxiety and ruthlessness displayed during his battle with Sarathiel is nowhere to be seen, and only a cold pragmatism remains.

“We all return to aura one way or another in the end, and rather than let myself be washed away into the Stars above, I chose to retain my will. I chose to walk on the land of this world forevermore.”

In an instant, the gas around the room launches itself at Ascalon’s body, enveloping him entirely within its dark cloud. Its attempts at invasion are much more aggressive, but the result is the same albeit slightly more discomforting.

“I expected as much,” Nokron says dryly. “Even in my current state, Niflheim is unable to bypass your authority.”

Ascalon lunges forward and slashes at his gaseous form, but it passes through harmlessly, prompting nary a reaction from his muted gaze.

“But it appears the same lies with you. We are both locked in a stalemate. Quite an amusing situation this is.”

“Are you really ok with this type of exchange!?” Ascalon cries out. “Where’s your pride as a commander? As a warrior?”

Ascalon knows full well this type of provocation won’t work on him, and he’s a bit embarrassed himself from using such a petty method, but it’s worth a try. He needs to keep him talking, and maybe eventually something important will slip out.

You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

“My, to think a man of your position would spew such infantile insults. How endearing, but any remnants of anger or fury have long left my being. In fact, My temperament is steadily becoming more subdued. I suppose this is the consequence of merging with aura, but it isn’t entirely too unpleasant. The whisperings in my mind have finally been silenced.

“Ah, and I am not a warrior. Never have been. I am a chemist.”

He holds his arm out, letting a strange, blue-hued substance to drip down onto the ground. It bubbles, foams, until eventually an icy phantom is formed from the solution. Even the Niflheim around it seems to be avoiding contact with the phantom, for its appearance can only be described as chilling bitterness made manifest.

“This…isn’t the Niflheim,” Ascalon grunts, attempting to fend off the new-born phantom in vain. His attacks against the thing only leaves behind a trail of frost, latching onto his armor and slowing his movements.

“But it is. Or rather, a more concentrated version of it,” he muses as he watches Ascalon gradually becoming more encased in rime. “Human folly is composed of many, many complex emotions. One’s memories are always being recorded by aura’s lifestream, and it is within this eternal flow that remembrances can be brought forth into the present. The pain of a child succumbing to the cold, the bitterness of one suffering from solitude…the world never forgets, and thus it becomes corrupted, changed, by mankind’s suffering.”

More icy phantoms materialize around Ascalon and pile onto his body. He struggles and attempts to repel the frost, but alas, it is not an actual, physical presence nor real ice. No, the aura inhibiting his movements are but an imitation of frost brought forth from the phantoms’ memories of hopelessness. Of being trapped.

The frost itself isn’t actually harming his body, rather forming a tight barrier around him. Nokron cannot revert Ascalon into a younger state, nor inflict any wounds upon him, but he can trap him.

“I know full well of your blessing Ascalon. I know this sort of entrapment won’t last for long. However, it shall do for now. All I need is a little bit more time, so stay there for just a bit.”

In an instant, Ascalon becomes entirely encased in a prison of ice. He can’t move. He can’t call forth aura or Creation’s power. He’s completely stuck.

Nokrom glides over and chuckles at the pair of scornful eyes glaring at him. “Do not worry, the others will join you soon. I wonder, just how many need perish before your invulnerability cracks? A thousand? Ten thousand perhaps? Well, lingering on numbers matters not. Everyone shall join the lifestream in the end, anyway.”

Realization dawns on Ascalon’s frozen visage. The reason he’s gathering so much of the Niflheim is-

“You plan to flood the entire fortress,” his muffled voice says from within the icicle. Although Ascalon cannot see Nokron’s face behind the gas-conjured mask, he can tell that the man is breaking out into a sinister grin.

“Full marks to you, Ascalon. As one would expect from a fortress of this size, it would require a very large amount of gas to fully encase The Magnus Murus in an eternal, timeless flux. Your sudden interruption is forcing me to use up some Niflheim as well for your imprisonment, so I am forced to bide my time a bit longer. But…eventually I shall succeed—and when the time comes—there will be naught you can do but watch on, helpless.”

“No, the knights of Polus won’t succumb easily to your gas. Even if you take away their aura or plague them with nightmares of the past, I know they will triumph against their inner turmoils just like Sarathiel did.”

“You are naive, Ascalon. Sarathiel is an exception; not everyone has such steadfast resolve within them—especially not when they are all beaten and dazed. I may not succeed in influencing everyone, but all I need are a few vulnerable souls. Will they truly be able to maintain their sanity when forced to slay a friend turned fiend? A crack, a momentary lapse in concentration, is all it takes to turn a man into a monster even without the Niflheim’s influence.”

“Does that belief come from your so-called ascension, or are you speaking from the heart?”

“From both, I suppose. I bore witness to many ‘good’ people succumbing to depravity’s influence during my time as an apothecary. Feelings of disgust at humanity’s ugliness seeded itself within the depths of my heart, but it was only when I discovered the Niflheim that those seeds sprouted forth with uncontrollable fervor. Within the gas’s influence, I saw heroes of past become monsters, lulled into insanity by a few honeyed words. Even the so-called strongest are not immune to the folly’s that plague mankind.”

The machines behind Nokron suddenly let out an ear-piercing shriek. It’s finally done.

“Ah, but it appears our little chat must come to an end. It’s a shame, I do quite enjoy your company, but I have a duty to complete.”

Nokron strides to the center of the room. The gas starts to whirl around him violently, forming a razing tornado of glowing-green light. Spectral faces writhe amongst the turbulent mass, echoing a solemn reverie of tortuous screams and howls.

And in an instant, everything is sucked into Nokron’s body. He jitters for a moment, struggling to maintain his form, and turns around to face Ascalon.

“So many lives you’ve brought, so desperate to avenge Lorelai’s death, but look at what your campaign has wrought. Only failure.”

He laughs a final, cruel bout of mockery before bursting into a ravenous wave of gas. It sweeps through the room in mere moments before rushing out into the halls, Nokron’s taunting voice echoing all-the-while in its wake.

As befitting of a zealot, Nokron can’t help but ramble on about his supposed victory. A man like him revels in his own vanity, but his overconfidence blinds him. It’s as Lorelai says: One must imagine themself in another’s position, and Nokron is so terribly predictable.

It’s true that Ascalon’s stuck, invulnerability limited to the confines of his own body, but in his hubris Nokron has forgotten to take away the one thing that completes his power.

The Mattatron.

The royal zweihander glows a vigorous blue, repelling the frost-like aura around Ascalon by pushing his barrier of invulnerability further out away from his body.

“Haha, appreciate it old friend,” Ascalon thanks. “My acting was pretty good, wasn’t it? I think I did a pretty good job at looking helpless.”

The zweihander lights up excitedly in confirmation.

“Unfortunately, your work is not over just yet. There’s still one last thing I must do. Can you spread my authority to cover the entire fortress?”

It hums affirmatively, but such an action would require a significant amount of aura in order to maintain the area of protection.

“No need. I only need you to maintain it for a second.”

The blade shimmers questioningly for a moment before becoming mute. It knows what Ascalon plans to do, but…

“Even so, I have to.”

It’s silent for a moment, but eventually it agrees to his request.

“Thank you. Don’t worry, I’ll be fine. I made a promise, and I fully intend to keep it.”

The Mattatron shines a sparkling lilac and spreads Ascalon’s authority to the far corners of the fortress.

And in an instant, he retracts the authority back towards his body, dragging every single piece of Niflheim and Nokron’s consciousness along with it.

“W-What madness is this!?” Nokron cries out as he’s forced inside Ascalon. “You can’t possibly-”

“This is my resolve,” Ascalon murmurs. “Every tortured memory, every fragment of corrupted aura…I’ll accept it, embrace it, until those revenants can finally find peace.”

As the words part from his lips, the world turns dark. He closes his eyes and collapses onto the ground below.