One of the most noticeable things when coming back into consciousness was the ungainly weight in his right arm. Before even opening his eyes he felt almost as though something alien was attached to him, an indescribable sort of wrongness which bothered him more than any injury, a feeling he was certain wasn’t there before. Speaking of injury… There wasn’t much pain, in fact even where his already injured rib cage was slammed into by a beast that felt more like a boulder rolling down a mountain had little more than a weak throbbing ache remaining. In the room slumped over asleep on a chair was Alexander, who looked strangely small now in the corner of the room, the bags under his eyes making him look awful. Doubtless his third eye would be much the same as the ones visible on his face above.

The old man blinked himself awake and John weakly waved as a response, immediately noticing the alien weight of his limb at the action. It wasn’t as though moving was hard, but it was strange, as though his thoughts were taking their time to become actions. Obviously unaware of John’s current troubles, Alexander breathed a loud sigh of relief and got off his chair to be by John’s side.

“Must you always insist on scaring me to death, boy?” Alexander half-heartedly chastised.

“How long was I out for?” John quietly croaked, lacking the energy to do much else.

“Between your unexpected rise to the ninth step and rather immediate medical attention, your recovery was far more rapid than what you would have experienced normally. That said, you were still unconscious for three days. Either you sustained wounds that should be lethal or something more is going on… and I have to suspect it is both,” his mentor answered honestly.

John stretched and moved around ARTOS, staring at the strange and now silent device. “It feels obvious to say but it was the Relic: it changed me in more ways than I can count and constantly does things that I cannot even understand. I always knew I didn’t know a thing about it but…”

Alexander nodded “When I saw under your skin with my third eye I felt as though I was only catching a glimpse of a fraction of the true nature of the thing attached to you, truthfully I probably would have tried to tear it out if that would not immediately kill you given how interweaved you are. I cannot deny it is helpful, and at least does not appear to be trying to take your mind, but the legacies of our ancestors are not something to take lightly.”

“What do you think I can do?” John asked.

“There’s only one thing you can do. The world of cultivators is a world of knowledge no amount of mortal wealth or power can buy, even the Atomic Priesthood only entrusts their greatest secrets to the cultivators among their ranks. Loathe am I to say it but, the only way forward is to continue as you have always done, and complete the trials.” Alexander responded.

Attempting to get out of bed John found himself rather ungracefully falling towards the floor thanks to his unbalanced body. Groaning with more embarrassment than pain he stumbled to his feet with the aid of the elder Aurelium and shifted his weight awkwardly to properly stand on his feet. “When does it start?”

“Injuries from the first trial are not only known but fully expected, you do not need to worry about missing the window,” came Alexander’s reply, though in his eyes and tone it was clear he knew very well what John really meant.

Feeling his mentor trying to guide him towards the bed John attempted to push him aside, a feat he was unlikely to succeed in even when he was balanced, now it just managed to cause him to land face first into the floor.

Unfortunately he had to stay on the bed a bit longer.

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Svike remembered the stories of his forefathers, riding around the great plains unburdened by any greater power, freedom of the likes one could only dream of. In the days when the greatest cultivators of legend were mere specks compared to the forces of nature they would transform into, a time before nations and empires carved out the land in an attempt to recapture some long forgotten golden age, a simpler time when nomad tribes lived and died by their speed. This Grove of Life thing was all about speed; when he was handed a small relic and a gas mask he didn’t even need to be told to know that, like in the tales of his forefathers, life and death depended on how efficiently you could move. He was, admittedly, annoyed at having to spend an entire week before being accepted to take the second trial even long after his burn had ceased to be visible, but now that he was here well… As the ancient saying went, he was like a fish in water!

…He really should find out what a fish looked like. …

Navigating the dense forest was admittedly more of an issue, even under the dense mid day sun the air of the forest was so thick with spores that what little sunlight passed through fungal blooms or the thick foliage of the canopy was choked to the point it was difficult to see much past a few feet away. The gas masks, while well designed, obviously could not filter the poisoned air forever and every wrong turn meant more time for the filters to clog and fail. Each person was given a small map with the location of the place they were meant to deposit their relic which did help matters, but Svike knew few kept their roots and navigational traditions as much as his clan. Between the lanky Bron who was one stiff breeze away from collapsing and that kid who still walked around with a strange limp from his dramatic incident in the last trial he was more than confident he would be the only one of the group to make it to the end. Oh well, the less competition the better!

Time flowed strangely in the toxic fog, the sunlight bouncing off spores creating a sense that the area was illuminated from above at all points at once. The map provided useful markers with notable landmarks and directions carved onto old tree stumps further aided the process, but even to an experienced navigator the threat of getting lost was real and constant. It was not much of a surprise then to stumble across an unconscious Bron slumped over near a small pond, a slight tear in his mask likely being the culprit.

Briefly he paused and considered bringing the man along with him. Leaving him in this place where the air was thick with poison was practically a death sentence. On the other hand it was getting hard to breathe himself, and risking his life for a death cultist? Well, that was simply impractical, besides he had better things to do. Steeling his resolve he continued down deeper into the strangling forest.

He did not see the gouged eye watching his actions from below the pond, judging him down to his soul.

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All pills, medicines and violently disgusting herbal concoctions involved in cultivation apparently came from places like this. John did not really know what to expect when he and two other Aspirants were loaded onto the Rust Wagon and driven miles past the compound, but towering emerald green foliage in apparent defiance of the lifeless expanse of wasteland surrounding it was among the most surreal experiences of his life. Round orange fungi the size of the Rust Wagon itself sprouted from the trunks of the largest trees he had ever seen and even from a distance he could feel his lungs burning from the toxic spores that filled the air. Traces of charcoal and ash still stained the soil around the grove, evidence of lengthy efforts to contain the spread of the warped forest, at once the source of some of the most valuable resources of the sect and a deadly corruption of nature which undoubtedly would swallow up the entire land if not constantly kept in check. They were given strange masks to filter the deadly air, their instructions for the test and a small relic before being left on the edge of the grove, with no apparent options but to go in.

Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

Bron was first, donning his mask and quickly running into the spore filled fog with the terrifying zeal of a man with nothing to lose but his dreams. Following after his sickly comrade John ran after him, the unbalanced weight of his body causing him to awkwardly swing from side to side as he stumbled and struggled to readjust his weight, yet failure was not an option, not now, not ever. He did not dare look back but he was sure the blue haired guy was not far behind, only the fastest would beat the test, what little navigational aid they were given would quickly become useless come nightfall and every second spent breathing the tainted air of the forest was to risk falling into a slumber from which there is no waking. There was no deadline, officially this was not a race, but nonetheless he ran like a cornered Jackalope through the thick maze of trees and fungus.

Coming to a stop near a small pond to briefly catch his breath John slumped over with heaving lungs and burning muscles. He could feel ARTOS dragging his entire right side down to the earth with every passing second, between managing its weight and sprinting through spore filled woods like a possessed man some part of him wanted to lie down and simply drift to sleep. Surely the others couldn’t be faring much better, after all he was in the ninth step now, on the verge of escaping the Wretch Realm entirely even! Surely he could afford to lie down just like that blue haired guy over there…

He blinked.

On the other side of the pond was one of his fellow Aspirants, surely they weren’t here a moment ago? Perhaps they were hidden by the spores, after all he could barely see more than a few feet past himself, but what was he doing here now? Upon closer inspection he appeared to be breathing at the very least, but with what looked to be a small hole in his mask… that may not last much longer. Not needing to think further he slung the unconscious form of his fellow Aspirant over his left shoulder and continued to run through the fog.

The presence of increased weight on his shoulder had the unforeseen side benefit of balancing out his ungainly form somewhat, not nearly slowing him down as much as expected. Unfortunately the added weight did increase the pace of his breathing, and with every passing moment it felt as though the filter was breaking down more and more. Worse, without his hands free he could not readily check the map he was given and was forced to operate off memory, a task made that much harder by the fogginess washing over the glass panels of the eye holes of the mask. The fungus in this part of the forest glowed rather brightly, dotting the corners of his vision through the fog like false stars in a sea of light orange spores creating a beautiful and entrancing atmosphere that almost seemed tranquil. That was besides the fact that with every step he felt the bones of countless strange creatures crack underfoot, an ever present warning of the potent power of the spores and the deeply ironic name of this place. At this point he dared not look down beneath his feet, for with the crunching only growing more frequent as he progressed his imagination was already doing more than enough to wear down his nerve.

This lack of attention to what was immediately below him unfortunately turned to bite him in the ass in the form of a large lump on the ground obscured by the spores right in his path. Running too fast to stop immediately he slammed into whatever the thing was and the tentative balance on his shoulders was immediately thrown back into chaos sending him foliage several feet forward, only by sheer luck barely managing to avoid loosening the gas mask on his head. After the relief of not breathing in pure poison momentarily wore off a new fresh panic set in upon realising his arms were empty. Shakily he rose to his feet and searched the area around him only to find a large pile of stones, wood and rope… as well as a very different person than the one he remembered carrying.

Biting his inner cheek hard to reassure himself that he was not in fact dreaming he blinked at the sight of the bald man lying before him with a mask that was nearly halfway off his face, probably snagged on a branch if the scratches on his face and the branch near his body was any indication. But given that the other guy apparently disappeared when he tripped over… was this real? Or was it more illusion bullshit? He did not know and frankly he didn’t really want to find out. Picking up the map and the relic where he dropped them he paused and noticed something odd, the man in front of him also had his own map and relic… but the blue haired body didn’t. What’s more in front of his mouth, while difficult to see through stained foggy glass, weak breaths visibly pushed spores from pale nostrils.

If this was another illusion quite frankly whatever was causing this was trying way too hard.

He picked up the body and immediately noticed how much larger he was than what he was previously carrying. Not quite enough to slow him down with his new strength, but certainly awkward at best. With renewed vigour he resumed his frantic sprint through the forest, he was close now if memory serves him right, but if he was wrong then he would have a death weighing on his conscience. He could feel the breaths of the man on his shoulder slowing down, the body was colder even than the wood and stone facsimile he was carrying earlier, at this rate… no… he could not afford to slow down to think… he had to go further…

With a push of strength he pushed through the bush, several times nearly slamming into a tree. Once in fact he could not slow down in time when a trunk revealed itself suddenly through the fog and he slammed down the whole tree with a titanic blow from his enhanced arm, its ungainly weight finally proving an advantage for the first time all week.

[Large impact detected: temporarily leaving power saving mode…]

[Severe physiological strain detected… power at 23%... host compatibility 75% and stable…]

[Calculating…]

[Consensus.]

A sudden burst of energy flowed through his veins right as the burning in his muscles grew to a peak, in fact he had to readjust the weight on his back again as his right side suddenly grew lighter. There was a strange warmth travelling down what felt like a thousand worms deep within every part of his body from his skull down to his toes, with more detail than he appreciated he became acutely aware of the shape of his insides forcing him to fight the urge to vomit inside of his mask. Nonetheless it could not have come at a more opportune moment, for right in front of him was a clearing in the thick forest with a stone altar filled with holes shaped just like the relics the Aspirants were tasked to deliver. WIth one final push he threw himself forward, the thinning spores and renewed strength emboldening him to act more recklessly in pursuit of his goal.

Setting the unconscious man behind the altar where the air was most clear he slid the relic into its hole and allowed himself to collapse panting, exhausted and more than a little sick.

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Lione Cinnabar applied another set of bandages treated with healing ointments to the weeping sores of her old friend where he had gouged out his eyes. It was a useful technique admittedly, though she still thought it was far too nasty, and eyes were one of the most complicated things to regenerate. Still it was his choice, and in the end he seemed kind of… happy… and wasn’t that unfortunately a surprise?

“I take it the boy passed then?” she noted, dabbing at a raw eye socket with a treated cloth.

“I was a bit worried at times but indeed he has qualified to make it to the final trial.” Rusty grunted.

“You know, I get the whole bias thing and whatever, but you can afford to say hello to the boy. After all he is your legacy.” She poked, the fool winced for reasons entirely separate from her treatment of his self inflicted wounds.

Seeing how there was not going to be a response at this rate she gave a short humph and lightly poked one of the empty sockets provoking a catlike hiss from Aurelium.

“What was that for!” He screamed. She had to put in more effort than usual keeping her face centred as she began to laugh before shifting back into a more serious expression.

“I remember when your father came back from a raid carrying a small child in his arms and could barely peel his attention off of you, even as the tides of war and rebellion came washing over our humble little sect. I hear men try to carve paths away from their own fathers footsteps but aren’t you taking it a bit far you reckon?” She asked, dabbing at the sore wound her finger inflicted.

“You know full well the extent of my failures Lio…” Came the whisper soft response.

“Not well enough clearly.” She tutted, continuing to tend to the wounds. “So I hear Thall will be returning from his little raids in the south by the time the latest batch makes it through the third trial, and since I have been on leash duty the last few years I trust you are more than capable of making sure he doesn’t scare the new Initiates too hard Rusty.”

“At least try to be subtle about punishing me…” the man grumbled.

She laughed, her face migrating to the top of her head and splitting into four.