Using his blood as a medium and his bones as a springboard, Sorin enacted the next part of his plan: converting his sanctified flesh and upgrading it to the next level.
Poison would no longer be the basis for his cultivation. Instead, he would host the myriad forms of corruption that behaved as poisons, thereby expanding the reach and scope of his original cultivation method and bloodline.
Unfortunately, Sorin didn’t have much left to work with. Only half of his sanctified flesh remained from the onslaught of Life and Death, and that number was steadily shrinking. He therefore focused on forming a framework he could build back form no matter how much flesh he lost.
Sorin only kept a faint outline of his muscles and tendons. He prioritized his organs, his veins, and their supporting systems. These, he rendered in such detail that none of their vital functions were compromised.
The transformation was excruciatingly painful considering that most of his flesh was melting away as he worked. In the end, he only managed to save 15% of his flesh by the time Life and Death and their faithful minion, Time, caught up with him.
Having lost all his ablative flesh, Sorin’s new framework came under attack. Wave after wave of necrotizing and revitalizing energies battered the framework, forcing it to constantly adapt it fall into oblivion.
This led into the next form of Sorin’s plan: upgrading his armor, in a loose sense of the word. A worn suit of blood-bound snake leathers appeared alongside a large pile of Ouroboros Scales.
While Sorin’s preferred plano of action would have been to do as Mr. Sanderson said and forge an early pseudo regalia, Sorin did not have that luxury with his mind being held hostage by two interlopers. He could only compromise and transform his flesh into a suit of armor that incorporated Life and Poison alongside the cyclical powers of the Ouroboros.
The leather armor and the scales melted as they fused with Sorin’s framework and merged with his nine corruptions. The compatibility of Sorin’s flesh with poisons reached an unprecedented level, as did the toughness and defensive capabilities of his bare skin.
This alone would not be enough; the influx of Life and Death energies into his body was too potent, too overwhelming. Nothing short of perfection would be able to survive such an onslaught.
Or nothing short of cheating.
Alongside the Life and Death Scales, Sorin infused his skill, Dance of the Tail-Biter, into his flesh. The movement technique became a part of his physical existence that manipulated his flesh into forming a self-supporting cycle.
The incorporation was slow at first, leaving Sorin less than ten percent of his original flesh by the time he formed the initial cycle with Hubris.
Then the cycle expanded, incorporating Madness, Violence, Jealousy, Hatred, Strife, and Hope. Finally, it formed two more cycles with Life and Death, followed by a tenth cycle, where all nine forms of corruption formed a strange cyclical tangle in which they consumed and fed itself.
It was this final transformation locked in the results of his breakthrough. Life and Death were no longer a threat to Sorin’s existence, but a potent tonic. He leveraged his knowledge of the human body to rapidly build up the necessary support and transmission systems in his body, followed by tendons and muscles and finally, skin and hair.
A ripple spread out from Sorin as the transformation was completed. The formation isolating him from the outside world trembled and threatened to break apart.
Sorin’s mana and body had reached a level not seen since the time of the titans. Only his soul had yet to be transformed, something the two unwelcome guests in his mindscape immediately took advantage of.
“He’s becoming too powerful, too quickly,” said Azrakul as he pulled away from the Wise One. “We must destroy his soul before he has a chance to strengthen it. Otherwise, neither of us will stand a chance at taking over his body!”
“Agreed,” said the Wise One. “Let us defer our conflict to a later time.”
Threads, black and white, covered the sky of Sorin’s mindscape, forming an inescapable web that pulled back in whatever portions of Sorin’s soul had leaked out.
Whereas before, only a mental projection had appeared inside the Mindscape, Sorin now found himself fully present. His fleshly body had become a prison. And unfortunately, his spirit body was tiny compared to that of his attackers, ancient monsters that had been accumulating spiritual energy for centuries.
“You thought you could pull a fast one on us using your double breakthrough?” mocked Azrakul. “In truth, you almost succeeded. Unfortunately for you, your knowledge of cultivation is lacking. It’s due to your ignorance that you’re still helpless before our plotting.”
The prison of threads became chains that tightened around Sorin’s spiritual flesh, preventing him from moving. These spiritual threads ran throughout his body and had cleverly been worked into its makeup as he’d rebuilt it, creating an inescapable cage that spiritual entities could not escape.
“When you spotted my intentions, you allowed me to proceed, knowing that the spiritual empowerment from the breakthrough comes along when one ignites their God Fire,” Sorin said as he admired their work. “Only then does one’s spirituality reach the required potency to bend the Realm to their whims. This phenomenon is called Authority.”
The Wise One chuckled. “Your spiritual density might be high for someone in the Flesh-Sanctification Realm, but such occurrences aren’t unheard of. God Seeds also possess powerful spirits on part with demigods, albeit lacking in that intrinsic quality that manifests as authority.”
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“Without being able to control your body, it’s impossible to begin the formation of God Fire,” Azrakul continued. “You were doomed from the start.”
Sorin was impressed. Their movements had been so stealthy that he hadn’t detected them until now. “Am I to assume you’re done with your mandatory villain rant?”
“Villains?” said the Wise One. “With a body like this, its either me or this bundle of Strife that will ultimately be recognized as the protagonist. But yes, we’ve spoken more than long enough. Let us begin the execution.” She pulled on her threads, and Azrakul did the same. The threads dug into his flesh but failed to pierce the ‘skin’ of Sorin’s spirit body.
“Impossible,” muttered Azrakul. “These threads are built of authority. Even demigods would have trouble resisting their pull.”
Sorin laughed as his spirit body’s muscles bulged and ripped apart the threads. A blast of energy filled his Mindscape, manifesting the nine forms of corruption that now made up his mana and flesh.
“A nascent Authority?” said Azrakul with a frown. “That shouldn’t be possible. Unless…”
“You overlooked an important fact,” Sorin explained. “A medical phenomenon called Three State Harmonization, which states that a person’s body, mana, and soul, are interlinked. Just like harm to one will affect the other, reinforcing one will reinforce the others.
“I have reinforced my body and mana beyond mortal limits. My soul has received only a fraction of this empowerment, but given the magnitude of the empowerment, it’s more than enough to deal with the likes of you.”
“Naïve!” said Azrakul. The heart projection throbbed as he pulled back, summoning a network of karmic threads in the sky. “Heraldic Curse: Karmic Backlash!”
Sorin’s many karmic connections lit up. They were numerous as the number of lives on Pandora due to the number of individuals he’d touched. “A powerful spell. One that would kill just anyone else in my position.”
“You thought forming karma with all those people was a definite good thing,” scoffed Azrakul. “And now, you pay the price of your Hubris.”
Azrakul’s spell drew power from these many connections to strike down like a pillar of divine judgement. Sorin’s spirit body broke apart under the weight of karma to form an unseemly puddle on the ground of his mindscape.
“He’s not dead,” warned the Wise One, but too late. Sorin’s ‘flesh’ formed a spike that pierced into Azrakul’s spirit body. Corruption spread throughout the heart, breaking it down into nourishments that fed back into the puddle as it reformed itself.
“My body is infinite, as is my mana,” said Sorin. “This indestructibility therefore applies to my soul through Three State Harmonization.”
Sorin swiped at the Wise One, but she evaded his counterattack. Azrakul likewise shed his spirit body like a molting snake and made to flee Sorin’s body.
“The back doors you installed in my body are already sealed,” said Sorin as he watched them flee. “Likewise, the threads you weaved have been corrupted and taken over. This body is now your prison, in which you will languish until your inevitable demise.”
“Don’t force my hand!” warned Azrakul. “I’ll self-destruct to take you down with me!”
“You will do no such thing,” Sorin said calmly. “You are a coward by your very nature. As for you, Wise One, will you not admit defeat? There is no sense in prolonging a game of chess that’s a move away from completion.”
The Wise One pursed her lips. “Well done, Sorin. I admit defeat. At the same time, I’m unresigned. Accept this final attack as a parting gift.”
“Do your worst,” said Sorin, and the Wise One obliged. Her soul burned as its remaining energy was channeled into a deadly spear that aimed to pierce the physical shell imprisoning them.
“Not on my watch,” said Sorin, stepping forward and grabbing the spear before it could even launch. Time moved slightly in reverse to make this happen, and all it took was single touch was all it took to corrupt it.
Of course you saw through my plan, said the Wise One’s fading voice. You were always so perceptive in spite of your naivety and ignorance.
Sorin sighed as he crushed what remained of the Wise One and willed his mindscape to manifest nine thousand poisons. He could no longer see Azrakul or what he was scheming, but the screams he heard and the infusion of energy he received confirmed he’d hit his target.
“Sorin, we can negotiate!” shouted Azrakul.
“Too late,” said Sorin, tightening his fist. Nine Thousand Poisons came together to restrain the slippery evil and tightened around the creature, scattering its spirit.
The death of these two individuals provoked a reaction from Sorin’s body. It was ready to shed its mortal coil and ascend. Thanks to the karma he’d sown across Pandora, there was more than enough fuel to light his God Fire.
Ultimately, Sorin chose to suppress this breakthrough. My God Fire will form the foundation of my future existence. I have more than enough fuel to spur the process along, but my poisons lack focus. Until I find that point of focus, it’s better to wait.
Sorin’s eyes snapped open in the physical world, and they immediately focused on Astley. He made a snatching motion that plucked a wisp of the Wise One’s soul out from her. At the same time, he pulled out the thread of energy preventing her from speaking, hearing, and seeing.
“Sorin?” said Astley, blinking. “Is that you? I… I couldn’t see. I couldn’t hear, but I somehow knew you were here.”
Sorin smiled wryly. “Unfortunately, I can’t do anything about your cultivation.” He flicked his sleeve and eliminated the many ailments in her body. “All I can do is prevent the degeneration of your health. The rest is up to you.”
Astley blinked out tiny tearful rivers. It was the first time Sorin had ever seen her cry. “We were fooled. All this time.”
“I’m sorry for your loss,” said Sorin. The Wise One had clearly been a parental figure to her, and now she was gone. But not before betraying Astley, who’d trusted her so completely.
“Such is the nature of Hubris,” muttered Astley. “We think ourselves beyond failing, but ultimately, we can’t avoid the pitfalls of our own making.”
Sorin nodded slowly when he saw that things weren’t completely bad for Astley. Her cultivation wasn’t just gone; it was like it had never existed in the first place. What’s more, she was now completely aware of her nature and would suffer no backlash as a result.
“The chains of humanity have been broken,” said Sorin. “But the myth remains. You’ve lost much, but your mission stays the same.”
“To spread the truth I’ve discovered,” said Astley in agreement. “Once I gain the requisite strength to do so. What about you?”
“I’m afraid you’re better off not knowing,” said Sorin with a wry smile. “But I’ll make a splash. I promise.”
He then spread his senses out into Olympia to survey the current situation. His expanded spiritual senses allowed him to push past most of the restrictions in the city and better assess the situation. Only two locations could still evade his spiritual sight: the Zeiss Clan’s headquarters and the remnants of the Hyde Clan.
The former was protected by a treasure and contained not a living soul. As for the latter, Sorin had a decent guess about what was going on but required additional confirmation before he dared brave the clan’s frightening accumulations over the centuries.
“I guess I’ll make my first step Sanderson’s Leather Outfitting,” said Sorin, taking a step. He appeared inside the smoldering ruins of a shop. A quick read of the karmic threads confirmed that Grandpa Sanderson and his son had been taken away.
Sorin shook his head. “I already had a bone to pick with you and your faction, but you just had to force my hand. Benjamin Riss, prepare to welcome me.”
His voice and the bloodlust it contained swept throughout Pandora, alerting even the most reclusive hermits of his intentions.