Chapter 134: A Tear in the Fabric
Inside the rift, the world was a swirling chaos of purple waves and shifting, kaleidoscopic colors that pulsed erratically, like the heartbeat of a mad god. The air itself seemed alive, pressing down on the three figures who stood on a beautifully woven beige and golden carpet, floating above the formless expanse. Although Magians were able to fly upon breakthrough, their flying speed wasn't anything special unless their affinity resided in that field.
The oppressive aura of the realm weighed heavily on them, a constant, suffocating force that gnawed at their spirits. Even for Magians like them, this space between worlds was dangerous, unstable, and inherently hostile.
Magian Stone stood tall, his expression grim as he turned his attention to Magian Duskfang, who was seated cross-legged on the carpet. Duskfang’s face was tight with pain, his hand clutching the still-bleeding golden wound on his shoulder—a reminder of the King’s terrifying power.
The faint golden glow of the spear’s magic remained, defying all attempts at healing. It radiated a subtle but relentless energy that sapped at his strength.
Stone’s voice was steady but laced with concern. “The Spear of Judgment isn’t just a weapon—it’s a curse. Its effects can linger, weakening the spirit and eroding mana reserves. Dispelling it takes time, effort, and sometimes… luck.”
Duskfang let out a shaky breath, his voice low but laced with a mixture of pain and awe. “I’ve never felt anything like it. To think the King—a Stage One Magian, just one step away from his breakthrough—can wield such power...”
He trailed off, his gaze distant. The realization stung. All three were middle-ground Stage One Magians, veterans who had honed their abilities over decades. Yet, they stood no chance against the King. They lacked both the knowledge and raw power to shatter their limits and approach Stage Two. Against the King, they had been nothing but insects under his heel.
Duskfang shifted slightly, wincing as the pain from his wound flared. “Still,” he continued, a faint trace of pride creeping into his tone, “I’m thankful for my research into the Void Spawn. Without it, I wouldn’t have been able to learn the basics of rifts and the world between the layers. It saved us, but I’m far from mastering it.”
Magian Verdant, standing nearby with his arms crossed, spoke with measured urgency. His green eyes glinted under the shifting colors of the rift. “The Void is chaos incarnate. If we linger here too long, we risk attracting something far worse than the King’s wrath. What’s the plan?”
Stone nodded in agreement, his stern gaze shifting to Duskfang. “We need to escape this place, and fast. What do we do?”
Duskfang sighed, closing his eyes and centering himself as he began to speak. “The creatures that dwell here—between the fabrics of reality—are far more dangerous than we can handle. Even united, we are weak compared to the horrors within. We must avoid them at all costs.”
Verdant’s jaw tightened, his posture stiffening. “Agreed.”
Duskfang’s brow furrowed as he concentrated, his voice growing quieter, more deliberate. “I can’t cut through the thin fabric back to our world—not in my current state. The King’s spear drained too much from me. Our only option is to find an existing crack or rip in the rift, a place where reality is already weakened. From there, I can attempt to bring us through.”
Stone’s expression darkened, but he nodded. “How long will that take?”
“It depends, but based on my calculations time in this world can vary drastically depending on where you are going through,” Duskfang replied, his eyes still closed as he focused. “I’ll need time to locate a tear in the fabric. Be on guard—the longer we remain here, the greater the risk.”
He settled into a meditative posture, his breathing slowing as he attuned himself to the chaotic energies of the rift. The carpet beneath them swayed slightly, as though buffeted by unseen tides.
Stone and Verdant exchanged a glance. Neither spoke, but their hardened expressions reflected their shared understanding. They had survived countless trials before, but this—this was uncharted territory.
As Duskfang’s mana pulsed faintly, sending ripples through the air, Verdant crossed his arms and furrowed his brows, his green robes shifting in the oppressive currents of the void. Stone, ever the sentinel, stood like a statue, his eyes scanning the undulating chaos around them.
Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author's consent. Report any sightings.
Suddenly, from the infinite expanse of the surreal world, a colossal, mummified corpse appeared, its sheer size dwarfing even the grandest mountains. The figure floated silently, an ancient relic from an era so distant and unfathomable that it defied comprehension. Its body, wrapped in decayed, tattered bandages, exuded an aura so profoundly ancient and ominous that it felt as if time itself had forgotten this being’s existence.
Despite the vast distance, the presence of the mummified entity was overwhelming, casting a shadow that seemed to stretch across the entirety of the strange world. Its aura was beyond anything Stone and Verdant had ever encountered—monumental and incomprehensible, a force that dwarfed even the might of the king. The sheer weight of its existence pressed down upon them, a silent, oppressive reminder of powers that lay far beyond mortal reach.
The entity’s face was barely discernible, reduced to the outline of a decayed skull, its features lost to the ravages of time. Yet, what sent a chill down their spines were the eyes—or rather, the dark voids where eyes once might have been. Upon further inspection by the two Magians from within those hollow sockets, a faint, shadowed glimmer stirred, as if concealed within layers of darkness. Eyes that seemed almost human, with red veins spread throughout. Although the body was mummified, the eyes seemed to still be the same it had always been. Despite the entity’s apparent immobility, the gaze emanating from those eyes was unmistakable. It seemed to follow them, locked onto their very souls, regardless of the direction the figure floated.
Stone and Verdant could not escape the feeling of being watched, an eerie sensation that grew with each passing moment. The mummified figure offered no sound, no movement, as if it were imprisoned by some ancient, unknowable force. The bindings and the stillness of its form hinted at a powerful captor, but the nature of what could have subdued such a titanic being was beyond their comprehension.
As the figure drifted slowly away, it seemed to carry with it an aura of desolation, a lingering curse from a forgotten era. Its ominous presence gradually diminished, leaving behind an unsettling silence that seemed to stretch on for eternity. Verdant and Stone exchanged glances, their faces pale, the experience etching itself into their memories.
The mummified entity, a horror beyond comprehension, floated away into the void, its fate uncertain. Perhaps it would wander the endless abyss for another thousand years, never again encountering the living. Or perhaps, one day, it would return—a specter of a bygone age, bringing with it the secrets and terrors of a world long forgotten.
For now, all they could do was wait—and hope that escape would come before the horrors of the rift found them first.
Magian Verdant stood at the edge of the floating carpet, his normally composed expression faltering as a rare hint of vulnerability seeped through. His voice, tinged with worry, broke the tense silence. “Do you think the King would really go so far as to use the Sacred Treasure of Humanity to trap Bask alongside the Earth Giant King?”
Magian Stone, standing tall with his arms crossed, let out a derisive snort. “For a time, the King showed glimpses of reason, as though he might rise above the condescension and prejudice that have poisoned the Central Region for centuries. But that hope was fleeting. The Central’s elitist culture is too deeply ingrained, a rot passed down through generations.”
He gestured vaguely toward the void surrounding them, his voice sharp with frustration. “Bask has always been different. Poorer, less educated, yes—but it is still developing. We’ve cleared dungeons, neutralized threats, and begun uncovering the region’s ancient secrets. Yet none of that matters when weighed against a mana zone—something so rare and precious it overshadows everything else.”
Verdant nodded solemnly, though a flicker of doubt lingered in his green eyes. “Do you think the rumors about the mana zone in the Northern Isles are true?”
Stone’s jaw tightened, and for a moment, his frustration seemed to deepen. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “But if they are, Bask’s situation will only get worse. Compared to a mana zone, everything we’ve worked for—every relic, every discovery—will be seen as insignificant.”
The oppressive atmosphere of the rift seemed to mirror their growing unease. The currents of purple energy swirled faster around them, as though feeding off their frustration.
Duskfang, still sitting cross-legged but more composed now, suddenly stood. His voice was steady, carrying a sense of determination. “We still have the three towers. We are still the pillars of Bask. If we can survive the Earth Giant King’s rise, we might yet turn this around.”
His tone softened slightly as he turned toward Stone, his words almost hesitant. “But… what about the Stone Dragon?”
Stone’s expression darkened, his lips pressing into a thin line. “My ultimate treasure, you mean?” He shook his head, letting out a weary sigh.
“The Stone Dragon is nothing more than a puppet I uncovered in an ancient ruin years ago—a remnant of Bask’s forgotten history. In its prime, it could rival a Stage 2 Magian, but those days are long gone. The fuel source that powered it was an elemental spirit, and those have been extinct for centuries. Without one, the puppet is just a hollow shell.”
Verdant’s brows furrowed as he absorbed this revelation, but he nodded in understanding. “Still, we might need to revisit the idea. If the worst comes to pass, any weapon, even a dormant one, could make the difference.”
Stone remained silent, his gaze fixed on the chaotic void beyond the edges of the carpet. Duskfang exhaled deeply, looking toward the horizon of swirling colors. “We’ll find a way,” he said, more to himself than to the others.
Suddenly, his demeanor shifted. He pointed forward, his voice firm. “I found a tear in the fabric. It’s not far—just ahead.”
Stone and Verdant turned to follow his gaze, their expressions sharpening. Without another word, the three of them moved as one, guiding the carpet toward the glimmering distortion in the chaotic void.
The oppressive atmosphere pressed harder with each passing moment, but the faint glow of the tear ahead offered a sliver of hope. For now, their focus was singular: escape.