He couldn’t react. With his focus fully on the myth-worthy battle between his team and the endless waves of those abominations, his back was exposed. And the Dark, as mindless as it appeared, always took the chance to strike at those who lower their guard against it.
For the second time in just as many days, Xerion felt that terrifying weightlessness.
And yet, despite his predicament, the beast didn’t release him. Its tail remained wrapped around his arm, seemingly trying to pull him upwards. What for? He had no time to consider.
His saber, perpetually staying in his palm since the earlier ambush, shot out and struck at his assailant. [Resolve Augmentation] kept boosting him whole, and so, even without the stable ground for him to properly use his weight, the power behind his attack proved enough.
The Varsteel blade bit through the scales with no effort at all, reaching the flesh beneath and parting it till it lost its momentum near the middle of the tail. The abomination hissed, its three mouths opening simultaneously and releasing their slimy tongues.
The pressure around Xerion’s arm disappeared as suddenly as it had appeared. And with that, the boy managed to resolve his most immediate problem, leaving the other, slightly pressing one.
He was in a free fall, a good pace and a half of distance separating him from the ledge.
A quick look through that hole, through the only spot with the barest smidgen of light in this domain of the Dark, allowed him to see his team and to shatter his hopes of getting rescued.
The monsters, those Void-accursed mockeries of true life, chose this moment to press with fervor leagues beyond what they demonstrated before. To call them a wave now couldn’t be more accurate, as the endless bodies seemed to fuse into a single avalanche of scales and flesh.
Five beasts led this charge, five disgusting heads poking through that black mass and grinning in his and Team Hylkiö’s direction. Their sizes dwarfed those of their lesser kin, yet the most intimidating part of them were their eyes, all fifteen pairs filled with intelligence not often found in the minions of the Dark.
A sudden thought struck Xerion. Why now? Why didn’t they attack with such eagerness before? Did they… did they wait for one of them to enter the hole?
As all this was happening, as he kept falling and imagining the reasons for what he was witnessing, the boy did his best to save his so-frequently threatened life. [Resolve Augmentation]’s boost reached 100%, and with it, he finished his climb to the peak of his current power. The only thing left was to act.
One second passed since he escaped the serpent’s grasp.
The hole disappeared as gravity did what it does best, bringing him downwards. Aware that he was too far to catch himself on the wall, Xerion did the first thing that came to his mind – he tucked his arms close to his chest and started spinning.
As brilliant as the idea seemed but milliseconds prior, the young Practitioner haven’t accounted for the forces his body would experience. Round and round he went, accumulating speed so fast, his world turned into a blur.
[Penetrating Gaze of the Sorrowful]
This ability of his was active since his departure from Virsha, being turned off only whilst he slept in the [Reprieve from the Vile] protected space. Its description was as plain as could be, telling him of the skill’s enhancement to his regular eyesight and its special property to penetrate through the Void’s obstructions.
What it didn’t say, what no power mentioned yet he knew as it was stated in numerous books in the Archives, was that it could be boosted by supplying it with an obscene amount of essence.
Xerion threw his sight inwards, located the wondrous energy flowing in his channels, and redirected as much of it into [Penetrating Gaze of the Sorrowful] as he was able.
As if a needle stabbed him in both eyes, the boy exclaimed in pain before his four pupils widened.
Now.
The young Practitioner pushed his arms outwards with all the strength available to him. As a cultivator, one endowed with a supernatural body, the explosive action proved enough to move by that single pace he needed to save his skin.
His Varsteel blade, spinning and spinning with him, struck into the wall edge-first.
Xerion felt and heard his bones fracture as his saber penetrated the onyx Dark-strengthened rock. Sharp bursts of pain traveled through his entire body as he felt as if a thousand tiny mouths bit into his skin at once.
He tried to scream out, but air left his chest after he slammed into the wall. And yet, he kept holding onto his weapon, destroying the stone and reducing the momentum he accumulated.
Seconds passed as he kept cutting, kept hitting and bouncing off the rocks. His teeth were clenched tight, tiny drops of scarlet blood sliding down his lower lip. He’d endure this, for he had no other choice.
As his descent slowed to a crawl, a feeling of utter loss bloomed within his heart. It appeared out of nowhere, bringing with it sorrowful yet confused tears to his eyes. What was happening?
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A wrathful howl echoed out, coming from within rather than without. The boy directed his gaze inwards, to the depths of his Heartspace. There, a pup of golden mists started to condense.
Ether.
Impressions slammed into Xerion’s mind, a whole series of them. First, the soul-deep pain sunk into him, and with it, an image of a sun-haired person falling through a hole in the world. Then came the shame, for to let this happen, to not save this bestest of humans, was the greatest of crimes. And lastly, the resolve to do what was needed.
A scorching fire roared inside the young Practitioner’s chest as he witnessed the last memory of his companion.
Oh, you foolish, beautiful puppy, he thought while reliving the self-inflicted death of the best dog in existence. You killed yourself to return to me.
[Ether] might be an ability, a ‘mere’ essence construct, but it was also the best friend Xerion would ever have. And he failed it, too, by forcing it to employ such desperate means to save him.
The wolf emerged, its already open and snarling maw exiting through his stomach. Then the paws came out, their ethereal claws extended and ready to sink into the stone.
Yes, they’d do it. Together, they’d stop this, and save themselves.
“Ah, crap,” Xerion managed to say before fate’s punishment for his foolish thoughts arrived.
Blade-like fangs sunk into his calf, penetrating his essence barrier, enchanted robe, and armor with as much difficulty as if they were made of paper. Time seemed to slow down as he lowered his gaze looking into those ruthless eyes, a sneer and triumph hidden in their depths.
That ugly mug, this twisted fusion of a man and a serpent, snapped its head to the side. The boy moved with it, his blade coming along yet slipping from his grasp.
And then there was only darkness, its silence broken by howls filled with indignation.
----------------------------------------
Xerion awoke, swatting at the thing tickling his face with his left arm. The needle-like pain of the action made his eyes shoot open and forced a hiss of air out of his mouth.
“What the…” he said, looking around and seeing nothing. “Ah.”
He tried to channel his golden energy into his eyes, but it was sluggish, barely listening to his wants and asks. It took over a minute before [Penetrating Gaze of the Sorrowful] activated, and when it did, the sight that greeted him was blurrier and lesser than he was used to.
He took in his surroundings regardless.
Ether sat near his head, its eyes – those endless swirls of blue – overflowing with sadness. It whined softly, lowering its snout to lick him again. He stopped it with his palm.
Annoying mutt. Didn’t it see he was in pain?
Xerion sat up and checked himself. His left arm seemed… okay? No bones were sticking out of it, so he’d take that as a win. As to what happened to its insides, probably a fracture or two. Nothing too worrying if he was in Virsha, but here, deep in the lands of the Dark, it might prove the difference between life and death.
He had his potions, but those were focused more on the regeneration of the flesh rather than bones. He’d drink them, but his expectations for a swift recovery were low. Nothing could ever go his way.
Bruises covered him from head to toe, their only consolation coming from the lack of breaks besides the one in his forearm. Oh, how thankful he was for that. Truly made him want to kneel and proclaim his gratitude for the luck granted to him by that mythical Progenitor of his clan.
The boy swallowed, fighting with himself not to spit on the ground in disgust, and then doing so after catching a glimpse of what became of his leg.
He grabbed at his pants, ripping at the holes left by the two sharp fangs and changing them into a single bigger one, for a better look. After witnessing the damage, Xerion wished he hadn’t done so.
The beige of his skin gave way to deathly gray, the color present everywhere from his ankle to just below his knee. The two puncture marks were deep yet not painful, likely on account of all in their periphery being as black as the Void. Veins were spreading from them, their shade identical to the quite deep wounds.
The young Practitioner gritted his teeth, filled with an overwhelming urge to punch something. Anything. Why was he here and not any of the others? He barely reached the First Rank a fortnight ago, and was obviously unequipped to deal with any of this crap.
It was all the fault of that fat, bald pig. He assigned him to the Expendables, a bunch of people regarded as trash and thrown at problems everyone else was too smart to try to deal with. And his mother. She had to know about his team, had to know what would happen to him if he left with them.
No one cared about him. They all wanted him gone or dead. He was alone, always had been, and he’d die that way as well.
Xerion punched the ground, then again and again until his fist turned bloody. Ah, it hurt. But it was a good pain. It fueled his anger, made him want to get up if only to go back and get his hands onto the necks of every last one of those worthless clansmen of his.
Yes, he’d do just that. He’d escape from here, and he’d kill them al—
“What,” he croaked out, his breath so hot as if magma filled his lungs, “is wrong with me.”
Ether continued its whimpering, the mutt – No. The pup – desperately trying to reach him through their link. Ah, it was annoying, like a tiny voice whispering just beyond the range of his hearing.
Xerion shook his head. It barely helped. As if fog flooded his brain, his thoughts were… sluggish. Murky and alien.
A grunt escaped him as he forced himself to open that connection. Had to listen.
As always, talking with the mutt was not an easy thing. It didn’t communicate in words, but in feelings and impressions, with an occasional image or a memory. Piecing together what it sent took time – time he didn’t have, as his clarity of mind lowered with each passing moment.
But he continued, a thought of his acting as a needle, stitching everything he was given into a single thing, into a single word.
Barrier.
“Barrier?” Xerion asked and looked at the dog.
Ether’s appearance remained pristine, as always. A black button-like nose, twitching and resting below a pair of azure vortexes. Claws of ethereal make, sharp as blades and placed on tiny toes. Its fur behaved like mist, its color that of whitest snow. And lastly, the golden film that covered its form.
A film. The layer of protection against the Dark’s encroachment.
The boy’s head snapped downwards, eyes widening in horror at the sight that greeted him.
[Sentinel’s Embrace] must’ve broken with his fall, leaving him wide open for the Void’s corruption to seep into his depths. He hurriedly cast the ability, almost roaring in frustration at how slowly it activated.
His essence didn’t want to move, not with its Positive attunement. Not in a place with the darkness so dense, he could feel it tickle at his fingers as he opened and closed his fist.
After taking even longer than his eye-enhancing power, that shadow of gold and scars finally appeared behind his back and wrapped him in its warm arms. A pressure unlike anything he faced on the surface instantly settled on him, and he knew, this barrier wouldn’t last long. It was too weak, not meant to be used in spaces like this.
Xerion breathed in, then out, patiently waiting for the fog to depart from his mind, and for his body to stop shaking.
Neither happened. But of course, it didn’t. The Dark became the owner of all stained by its touch, one unwilling to concede so much as an inch of ground. And it was inside him, able and willing to do its darndest to stay there. All while maybe a few hours separated him from the breaking of his ability.
This time, he was well and truly screwed.