“Quicker.”

“You lost sight of your control again, don't waste the blessing you were handed with.”

“Strike to kill, you must open your enemies first before you can reave.”

Osias was a battered mess, and in some areas, he was injured more so than he would against beasts.

Kiran was thorough, taking advantage of his stronger, yet Ordinary body. Even more so than ever before. Perhaps his elder brother’s frustration and restlessness from the hidden secrets within the mist were being taken out on him.

He tiredly leaned against his blade he was gasping for breath with this thought in mind — his weary and muddled head was barely able even to muster this thought. His muscles were scalding in exhaustion and a sharp pain attacked his insides. Through these aches, he wondered just how much longer must he remain in this… pathetic body of his.

Weak, no matter how much his reservoir grows…. it was just too slow. His essence reservoir constantly draws upon the tattoo, keeping it at full capacity. As it greedily seeks to draw in more from the boundless amount in the tattoo, the limit is stressed and grows slowly.

But he needed it to be faster. The more essence in his reservoir, the more can his body be saturated and strengthened as a result. Day in and day out, constantly being berated, battered, and broken, he needs strength.

His brother, now atop a sharp jagged stone, was about to come at him once more. So with a heavy grunt, he pulled his wedged sword from the stones to block a thunderous strike.

A heavy blow toppled him from above as he staggered down to his worn-down knees — both hands tremored and shook as they held his sword flat against the strike.

But he blocked it, his head was safe.

However, Kiran obviously wouldn’t allow him such reprieve as he pulled back and slammed the butt of his spear onto his collar, making him tumble back reeling in pain.

Osias was still too weak — still too slow as another blow barreled and struck deep into his shoulder unrelentingly.

“It’s been two months you’ve been atop the summit. Show something of it. Show me your time wasn’t a waste.” Kiran harshly chided between his flurry.

Osias desperately put up a guard, a block, anything to stop the onslaught that battered him.

“Show me!”

He’ll guard his torso only for a barrage to topple him at his thigh, bringing him down.

He’ll use his arms to block his head but have a stiff jab knock the wind from under him as he brings his free hand to clutch his chest to make sure it is still whole.

But then a sweep of the spear’s shaft hooked onto his ankle despite the distance and swept him off the snowy stones with a heavy impact onto his back.

Kiran wanted to break him.

Osias’s arms gave out and he dropped his blade as he staggered to try and hastily get up — another swing from above was coming fast.

But Kiran stopped the monstrous blow right before it would slam into his head.

Kiran paused for a moment, his face remained a harsh scowl as he then lowered his spear and turned around.

“Rest. Then continue to hone your essence control. I’ll be back.” Kiran growled out.

Kiran’s usual aloof and indifferent demeanor seemed to extend into everything. But this aspect of Kiran changed both in battle and in teaching… Osias noticed this long ago, but even so, the fruitless weeks under the mist must’ve taken a rough toll. Weeks upon weeks, Osias could only think that his brother’s ventures were in vain. His brother always seemed to have a subdued resentment, under a thick cloak of control. But this guise is more broken than ever.

However, the weeks have ploddingly passed for him as well. As though he has been stuck atop the summit in an endless drudgery.

He’d wake up from sleepless nights, both his body and mind were so guarded against the mist, that he couldn’t close his eyes for too long without waking in a cold sweat. He’d draw his sword at an empty expanse, shivering until Kiran hand’s broke past the boundary of mist.

Atop such heights, the air was thin and cold, biting at his bare skin — his ignorant disregard for the elements on his first day was taken for granted. The wind howled ceaselessly, carrying with it a chill that cut to the bone. Each breath was a labor made shallow and fragile. His head felt light and his thoughts sluggish despite his complaints.

He was raised and fostered atop a Great Mountain… but even so, he felt out of place here.

And then he’ll endure increasingly more brutal training. He tried to be understanding, and patient even with his brother. He was aware, that the brooding feeling that welled up was perverse and went against what was needed for him to improve. Perhaps this was a trait he inherited from the band… an unconscious anger that must be subdued below the surface.

So he continued to be more mindful of himself.

…Begrudgingly he abided Kiran’s fleeting words without quarrel and wearily sat up and began to reflect over his spar.

Over this period he has increasingly become more familiar with his own body as well as how he moves. He became more frugal and efficient with using his essence, obtaining either the same or better movements as he did with flooding his entire body as he ignited as much essence as he could.

He envisaged where the fight would go, and moved accordingly as he adapted.

At times he would even suddenly burst himself with strength and speed to fit how he envisions himself so he could meet and find his way of battle.

He’ll remain docile and patient, biding his time before he becomes intense and violent. Always thinking as he scoured Kiran’s movements. It felt as though he had finally taken steps to overcome this habit of losing himself amidst the battle, always paying heed to not be crude and careless. He needs to acquire the same readiness to act decisively when the moment is right

Composed.

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Controlled.

But he has yet to land a single strike on Kiran. Not even a swipe of the rags that covered his elder brother’s waist and legs.

Perhaps when he does, he’ll be allowed to venture into the mist below…

Though speaking of the mist, if he peered below the descent, the mist has slowly receded in this time. However, it is only enough to reveal the highest edge of the treeline… The trees themselves hadn’t changed in the slightest, standing still like silent sentinels against the bleak landscape. Gatekeepers of the mist from his point of view.

The dread radiating off the mist hasn’t waned, but Kiran’s repeated entrance and exit made him curious if he could brave the mist. It was foolish, but it seemed that his time atop the summit as affected him too.

Returning his attention to his control over essence, he recalled something Kiran said. A fleeting set of words before he parted over a spar:

“To live is to devour others.” He whispered to himself.

Whatever that meant… Morbid as it was, the words stuck with him.

—

The mist billowed as a titanic hound bolted forward, titanic steps left in her wake. Her size cleaved through the mist only for it to fill what was cleared in moments.

Her vast body must’ve been as lengthy as even the tallest of trees turned on its size. Kiran didn’t want to think of the strength that came along with it.

But her vigor now must’ve been but a fraction of what it once was…

Kiran came upon her presence a few days ago, the furthest he descended from the summit. His progress was slow as it was stressful. He focused all he could on his senses. Scouring anything to detect whatever lay within the cold embraces of the sunless mist.

And then the ground echoed a quiet tremor.

Having grown accustomed to the eerie silence of the mist, having the ground tremble lightly was alarming. However, he felt something similar a few times prior, so he wasn’t too worried.

Then the tremors became increasingly louder and more violent.

However, he was daring that day. After long periods of idle findings, that day he was inclined to brave whatever was coming.

So he remained absolutely still and grounded himself as he studied his surroundings somberly. The small pebbles at his feet became violently fitful and he heard the low groans of a tree being uprooted in the distance. Steps… It was fast steps that were approaching.

And then his first reuniting with the brood mother happened, as brief as it was.

At first, the brood mother brushed sides with him, not even acknowledging his presence as she quickly ran across him. But he decided against pursuing her that day, as from her rear he saw something unexpected…

Vast flowing trails of putrid blood — she was running from something.

That day he was taken aback and he ran through the mist, following his trail left in the ground with all his strength. Away from his sight, an indescribable wail sharply cut through the sound of the brood mother’s running. Then almost immediately, just mere moments after he decided to run he smelt blood in the air. The brood mother gained quite the distance, yet he still tasted it as he ascended the mountain…

Yet he returned safely that day. After that, his daily ventures into the mist returned to as it was before, fruitless and uneventful.

Until today.

Today he came to upon the same wounded brood mother, maimed and bleeding out as she lay amidst a clearing of her own making — her escort of kin nowhere to be found.

He froze as he came upon her presence at first. Both because of the possible presence of whatever reduced the brood mother to her miserable state, but also because of her strength itself. Though wounded, she was a Third Ordeal, most likely of average battle strength or perhaps just above it.

However, she was most definitely below the strongest of the Third Ordeal. Otherwise, he’d retreat immediately despite realizing she was both alone and wounded. Those who displayed a kind of outrageous strength belonging to the Ordeal above… were not to be tested so carelessly.

Together with the fact that Path Beasts naturally possessed more powerful dispositions than their human counterparts, he would have no chance unless he was together with others like him.

Alas… she wasn’t at that level.

The brood mother used what was left of her remaining strength, she lowered her maw and dispelled a sickly black drool. It decayed the earth and blackened its surroundings.

Even the air was tainted to his dismay. As he mistakingly breathed in, his throat lit aflame, scorching in pain. The air burned within, filling his chest with a white-hot agony.

But he endured and bolted into the darkened fray surrounding her — armed with a long crimson spear he slashed and dragged at her side, targeting her already open wounds as he ripped a river of blood that flowed into his tattoos.

Blood Reave took her densely saturated blood for his own, invigorating him despite his rotting wounds.

The brood mother quickly rolled and turned in a desperate scramble, dispelling even more of her venom. Kiran staggered back, clutching his side where she had struck him earlier. The profane creature's venom had already begun to work its way through his body, a cold, creeping sensation spreading from the wound. His limbs felt heavy and unresponsive, and his vision blurred as it took hold from within.

He glanced down at his side and saw the skin darkening, turning an unnatural shade of black. The veins stood out starkly against the discolored flesh, pulsing with a sickly hue.

But he was fortunate enough to come upon her alone… if he was right, then the weaker hounds would enhance her own venom.

Stepping aside a vast black river he pushed through the agony and lept to her side, viciously thrusting his spearhead deep inside a lengthy open gash.

Suddenly, with a baleful smile, he altered the shape of his spear as it was embedded inside, bursting the blade into a cruel web of spikes before shrinking its form and jumping off her side.

It was a new ploy, the result of the endless practice of honing his control into each construct of True Extraction. But he found it difficult to manipulate within the body of such powerful creatures… something affected his control. However, it was enough as he remembered to pull another horrendous amount of blood out of the splintered wound.

Putting on distance between the brood mother it seemed that the lingering embers of her life were distinguished as she staggered and fell, her legs giving out to weakness.

She was in a horrible and miserable state. The wounds scattered all over her body were hideous and grievous enough to cripple her. Even her swelled underside wasn’t spared. He wasn’t going to allow more foul pests to populate the mountain.

It would be beyond dreams to even think of escaping the approaching end, her luck ended here. The corners of his mouth raised slightly as looked at the countless slits that rend and torn her hind legs — the work of whatever she was running from…

Although he’ll most likely have to come to face with the creature capable of doing such a deed, he silently expressed his gratitude as he walked towards the fallen hound before him.

She did not whimper, wail, or cry out like her kin… perhaps it was pride he wondered. The arrogance and self-regard of the strong.

Though it didn’t matter, death came all the same. There were no final rites to provide, only the end of his spear as he brought it against her hulking head.

With a stiff thrust, he ended her life.

But he was not going to leave without a reward, and he reached deep into the gaping hole left behind as he pulled his spear out.

True Extraction viciously pulled a river of blood essence into his spear, greedily feeding its boundless thirst.

‘Third Ordeal.’ He thought as he tested it against the tough leathery hide that covered her corpse.

Cutting a large section off, his mind seemed to naturally recall his brother’s need for garments. It was the first thing on his mind as he slew the brood mother oddly enough.

He’ll prepare it later as he curls the large roughly cut piece. Thankfully it was light… as light as a material stripped off a Third Ordeal beast could be.

Perhaps after Osias completes his First Ordeal could be don the crude piece. Until then, he’ll carry the hide, its weight was nothing to him. But as he thought this, a deep frown plastered his face:

‘Too slow.’ He thought vexingly.

He needed Osias to be stronger quickly. Time… he needed time.

Just how much longer will the summit remain safe?

What if the mist arises once more, but this time fully covering the summit?

No… he should stop thinking of the summit. There was still an entirely unknown amount of land they had to cross. For all he knew, the entire Outer Valleys could be enveloped by this fog.

He has barely begun to travel beyond the foothills of the mountain they occupied, yet this week alone his discoveries were enough to kill Osias tenfold.

‘Should we turn back? Try our luck inland?’ He thought grimly.

Though he had an inkling that whatever hunted down the brood mother could perhaps only traverse within the mist, he couldn’t prove it. If there was another reason it hadn’t revealed itself near the summit, he didn’t know of it.

More than that, he still has yet to discover the reason for its rising in the first place. There was a deeply unsettling fear that whatever mangled the brood mother so badly wasn’t the cause of it.

Shaking his head, he searched for the trail he left behind and began his return, swallowing the deep agitation that welled up within.