For certain worlds that exist under more freeform Systems, it’s possible to reach a point where your Essence Level goes beyond what your System can support. Usually, these Systems also have an Essence ceiling as well. This might be because the world is meant to be a tranquil world leftover by the Antediluveans or a special observation realm to see how the locals develop based on the existing limitations.
Tied to the ceiling is an Ascension ritual: A means of transporting someone out of the realm they’ve outgrown into a “higher plane” that can support their new potential. Certain realms were even created with this in mind, each with ceiling breached causing the local System to bestow upon them a means to cross the Source Phlogiston that encases most realms and arrive at a sister world with greater challenges.
Some worlds, however, have a contingency instead. Instead of placing you somewhere else, it places you in a realm that intersects with almost everywhere else.
The Claimed Hells isn’t the worst place to end up, despite the name but…
Well, being Ascended usually just means you’re a big fish for a very small, very limited pond.
The Claimed Hells, meanwhile, is open water.
-The Trespasser’s Compendium: Ascended
II-28
Taking a Name (II)
"Wait, so you're telling me I can book the tickets to the Bloodgrounds and also watch the fights directly online through this... vision-jacking feature?" Wei asked incredulously.
"Yes," Rafael replied. "It's very convenient. It's practically exactly the same as streaming. It's a new addition Mepheleon made, in fact."
"And what is streaming?" Wei said, tilting his head.
"It's like... imagine a network in which you can find anything you want. A magical library that shows itself to you through a screen. Well, your chat settings allow that to function directly through your class. And though I find the Harbinger a particularly loathsome figure, who am I to knock his search function? It might be the best I have ever encountered, no matter what world."
"I see," Wei said. Slowly, he tested what Rafael told him, entering the words [Midnight Sage Fight, Blood Grounds, Cherub's Corpse, Tomorrow Evening] mentally into his search bar.
A few seconds later, only two contacts showed themselves. The first connected to a demon assistant managing sales for the Cherub’s Corpse Bloodgrounds. The second was a scalper, a well-known local scalper that Rafael had told Wei to ignore. Apparently, the scalper was notorious enough to appear in the Trespasser's Compendium multiple times.
As soon as Wei sent a message to the demonic assistant, he received an immediate reply, and after a brief exchange of messages, he found himself 80,000 Sins poorer. What he got in exchange were 47 executive view platforming tickets and a special VIP package that included arranged transport for his entire sect come dawn, infinite refills and access to the buffet, along with an in-person greeting with the contenders for the main event.
It was the last thing that truly interested Wei. Getting to speak to the Midnight Sage would be most enlightening—though the blackness in their shared history made the young master a bit anxious as well.
After that, he explored the sight-jacking feature and found himself further amazed. Apparently, all one needed to do if they wished to view the fight remotely was rent one of the flying demons in the arena. After that, the assistant would link your Perception into the rented demon and use it as some manner of remote spyglass. The concept alone was novel and amazing to the young master. If his home had this, it would have revolutionized everything. For all the horror provided by the claimed hells, there was also an equal amount of wonderment.
"Now try not to seem too amazed," Rafael said, a hint of scorn in his voice. "Everything you are experiencing right now, these technologies and ideas—they’re mostly stolen from Earth. Mepheleon is a thief with no respect for intellectual property rights. You can tell this by how willing he is to do business with a group of dogs who would pimp out their own mother if you offered them the right kind of gemstone."
"Are you talking about the Crossroads?" Wei asked.
"Of course, I’m talking about the Crossroads. Who else could I hate more than them?"
The relationship between the young master and the lich had changed. After Wei handed Rafael an Aspect Advancement Shard, the air between them had lightened, becoming almost jovial. Gone was the constant apprehension with the lich. Previously, Rafael had been reliable, though a cloud of tension lingered between them—a lingering result of the damage Wei left. The new change in dynamic pleased Wei, but also surprised him. Rafael made for good company—and offered novel insights.
As the others retreated to their own quarters out of more mental lethargy than physical exhaustion, Wei and Rafael stayed in the trespasser’s office. The lich taught him ciphering basics while also going through excerpts and key entries from the Trespasser's Compendium.
It helped that neither of them particularly needed rest—one being Sourceforged and the other a cognitive construct bound to a skeletal body.
As the Oathbearers continued clearing away rubble and fortifying walls around their inner community, and as Ellena spent some private time with her daughter, Wei learned much from the lich and found him a most peculiar master. He wasn’t harsh like Master Wuren or strange like Master Mouze. No, Rafael was impossibly patient, easily distracted, and also approached problems from the strangest of angles.
He could go from patiently explaining the fundamental way two circuits connected, a similar set of signs for working, to wildly cursing when the words "economy" and "trickle down" were mentioned. Furthermore, he used the words "Argentina" and "failed state" a lot, making Wei realize that the Trespasser wasn’t particularly fond of his former home.
Time slipped away as lich and cultivator communed, and by night’s end, their shared efforts had reaped great dividends. After carving sign after sign and binding it using a complex weave of circuits, Wei learned how to make one of the lich’s floating eyes. In return, he broke a few more Essence-infused objects to provide Rafael a full restoration of Aspects damaged weeks prior.
Cipher Pattern Mastered!
>Create Oculus: Allows you to create an Oculus—a remotely callable eye tied to your Aspect of Perception. This working requires an external power source (light, kinetic energy, electricity, etc.) to sustain itself. It must also be bound to a source of Perception.
Aspect Advancement Shards: [6]
Concept Core shards: [1]
As night came to an end, Wei found himself glad to have Rafael’s company. It was preferable to being alone, and it distracted him from looming concerns.
“His aid will be reliable,” the Shell whispered. “Take heart to learn all you can from him. But also to shape him to your cause. There will come a time when he is made to choose between the Drowned Sky and the cultivators. Of this, we both can feel.”
In no time at all, night turned back to day, and Wei’s Class registered a full cycle’s completion with a quiet beep. Outside, the massive core that constituted Mepheleon’s spirit rose over the horizon and glared brightness upon the land.
And so it was time. Today was the day that the Drowned Sky Sect made their formal entrance into polite society—or at least whatever passed for such things in the Claimed Hells.
But before they left, there was one more problem: After spending all this time with Rafael, Wei realized he still didn’t know most of the names of his disciples. And so the lich encouraged him to be personable. To engage with his disciples. Thus, as the others began to filter out from their temporary homes, Wei stood there, arms behind his back, with Rafael by his side, waiting to greet them.
An awkward assembly was formed as Wei addressed his Drowned Sky Sect with the arrival of the second day.
Most of them looked weary still. It seemed like a few of them hadn’t managed sleep at all, and there was still a lingering wariness clinging to them at all times.
This couldn’t continue. Wei needed to fashion warriors from them, but to do that, he needed to build rapport. Earn respect.
"There will be changes in the near future," he declared. A few worried glances were exchanged among the group. "Good changes," Wei added quickly. "As you might have noticed, the Claimed Hells have been trying to kill us. Our enemies are many. Their dangers, even more so."
A snort came from the Shadow Archer, the only survivor of Sir Angeleous’s troops. "No shit," the man murmured.
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Wei looked around. There was indeed no shit. The Oathbearers did a stellar job cleaning up the rubble was well.
Rafael leaned in close. "He means ‘it is obvious.’"
"What?" Wei asked.
"No shit—it is a euphemism."
Wei didn’t understand why such a thing would use the words "no shit," but he shook his head and moved on. “I… see. You.” Wei pointed to the Shadow Archer. “What’s your name?”
The Shadow Archer froze and after a moment’s hesitation said: “Garret. Garret Losleid. Former Bowmen under the Radiant Will.”
"Good. Good. Glad to finally learn your name. First, I wish to establish better relations with all of you. I realize now that I have neglected furthering our bond while we were in the clientele’s. I intend to correct this mistake now." A series of accepting nods and murmurs sounded. "I will do this by training you. I have seen how many of you fight… and it pains me to stand next to you after seeing your performances.”
At that, Rafael suddenly turned, staring at Wei. The young master noticed Ellena shared the same response. She was shaking her head, her brows furrowed in warning.
Wei paused for a moment, then took his disciples in. A lot of them were decisively unamused. A few looked even a little depressed.
"I was only trying to tell the truth," Wei said, speaking to Rafael using a Chat message.
"Well, sometimes the truth is like a fist up the asshole, Wei," Rafael replied. "Yes, it knocks the shit aside, but the knuckles are an acquired taste on one’s folds, and some will never get used to–"
"Rafael."
"Yes?"
"I forbid you to ever use that metaphor for anything ever again."
"Of course. Certainly. But you get my point."
Wei cleared his throat and addressed the disciples again, trying to pivot and adjust his approach. "But this is my fault as well," he declared, trying to right the course of the conversation. "I have not taken an interest in your backgrounds or your lives. I should understand that not everyone was fortunate enough to be born a cultivator. Some of you might even been from poorer bloodlines by no fault of your own.”
Rafael’s head tilted forward. He let out a grunt.
Wei eyed the lich. “Are you well?”
"I feel a pain in my gut," Rafael murmured.
Wei stared at the lich. "But you don’t have a gut, Rafael."
"It is psychosomatic."
Wei didn’t really know what psychosomatic meant but it sounded terrible. "Do you need to find a healer?"
"No, it will pass as soon as this conversation ends. Please, continue. It will be good for me. It will be good for everyone."
Wei turned back to his disciples, offering Rafael a final worried glance. "Regardless, every morning as the sun begins to rise, we will train. This will begin tomorrow. I wish to gauge each of your skills and specializations."
A hand rose from the disciples. Wei stared. "Yes?"
Mira Nocturne, the elf he saved from the Hearted Realm of Greed, gave him a lazy smile. "Well, that’s nice, your masterfulness, but how are you planning on doing that?”
"By challenging you all to a series of duels."
Open terror consumed his gathered disciples. Only Agnesia pumped her fist, excited at the prospect of facing Wei.
The young master’s Pale Fang manifested in his hand with a searing fracture of light, its spectral edge gleaming ominously. A splash of light washed over his disciples, earning a chorus of curses as most of them shielded their eyes from the flare.
"Through my newly evolved Specialization," Wei said confidently, "your wounds will be temporary. I will make sure not to kill you. Perhaps there are even those among you who possess skill capable of frustrating me."
"Is it too late to find another bloody place to commit myself to?" the Shadow Archer—Garret—muttered under his breath.
"Yes," Wei replied sharply. "Next question. Any next questions?"
Another hand rose, tentatively. It was the orc chef. Gazgul, Wei thought his name was. With beads of sweat rolling down his dense slab of a nose, he stared nervously at Wei.
"So, uh... I’m a chef, right?" he said, pointing to himself as though Wei might have forgotten.
The young master humored him, nodding along. "Yes."
"Uh... most of my skills and invocations have to do with baking and cooking. I’m not sure how good I am in a fight."
"Then we will discover tomorrow together," Wei replied firmly, as though the matter was settled.
The orc shivered.
Ellena cleared her throat loudly, cutting in. "What Sir Wei wishes to say," she began, her voice tinged with a diplomat’s precision, "is that he wants to see you all capable of defending yourselves." Her tone carried a severe concern, something Wei struggled to emulate. He felt a flicker of envy. "This, too, is something you must learn," she continued, her calm words slicing through the orc chef’s trembling nerves like a blade.
Wei clenched his fists, determined to study the former queen’s approach.
"Morning training sessions will be good for all of us," she added. "It will not be pleasant. That is not what I am saying, nor, I think, is it what Master Wei wishes to say. But if we are trained, if we are strengthened"—her voice grew firm, reverberating with authority—"then perhaps we will be victors instead of victims in this place."
"Victors instead of victims..." the orc chef muttered, looking down at his hands. "If that’s what it takes to do my cooking and baking in peace.”
"Do whatever I can to bloody survive this place," the Garret agreed, his voice carrying an uncharacteristic edge of hope.
Wei frowned, his pride prickled. Victors instead of victims. Why hadn’t he thought of that?
"Because your speechcraft is nowhere near mastery," the Shell said internally. "Hurry up. I need a new helmet."
As Ellena finished, Wei nodded to the lich and Rafael addressed the group. "And after you're done with combat training," the Lich interjected, "I will show you all the way of High Art."
He cut the air with a quick gesture, and from his fingers, a glowing sphere of energy materialized. The radiant orb bathed the group in soothing brilliance, prompting a series of awe-filled oohs and aahs from the disciples.
Wei’s jealousy flared harder.
"Unlike those of you who are combat-oriented," Rafael continued, "everyone can be a master of workings. All it takes is attention to detail, a little bit of creativity, and an open understanding of the world."
The Lich paused for effect, then added slyly, "Also, we must talk about market theories and why the Crossroads are never to be trust—”
"Aside from this," Ellena interrupted, her authoritative tone returning, "we will be compiling a shopping list. I understand many of you have lost items in the past few days or are lacking critical components for your class. We will be heading to the Grey Bazaar at some point this week. Worry not about what you need—simply put it on a piece of paper or tell me directly, and all that we can obtain shall be obtained once we venture to the markets."
A rousing cheer erupted from the group. Wei stood back, confused at the enthusiasm. They liked the idea of shopping and learning from Rafael, but when it came to sharpening their combat skills, they were filled with dread?
"Not everyone has the constitution to defy the heavens," the Shell whispered softly.
"Yes," Wei agreed, his voice laden with regret. "Truly a pity."
Just then, Wei received a message, a notification that their transport had finally arrived. Well. Today, life would be easy for his sect, for they were off to a coliseum of epic proportions to mingle, dine, and witness the other warriors of hell face each other.
And as Wei intended to fight in the Bloodgrounds, it would give him perspective as well.
"Everyone," Wei said, his tone suddenly brighter, "it is time we head to our scheduled event.”
"Fuck’s sake," the Shadow Archer grumbled. "I was looking forward to lounging around here. What madness are we being dragged into now?"
"Madness indeed," Wei replied. "It is time for us to make our formal entry into the Claimed Hells." He paused for effect, savoring the moment. "The Bloodgrounds. There will be a bout scheduled later. I wish to see the caliber of our foes, and I wish to meet a potential old—" Wei hesitated, searching for the right word, "—peer of my mother’s."
"Worry not about the expense," Wei continue. "I have procured tickets for everyone. Today will be a day of festive revelry. Let your hearts roam as you so desire, and take in the splendors of combat."
A hand shot up again.
It was the orc chef.
"Master Wei!" the Gazgul blurted, voice trembling.
Wei nodded, his jaw tightening. "Yes. What is it?”
"So... I have a thing where I’m kind of afraid of blood, and I don’t like violence."
Wei stared at the Orc, the words landing heavily but not quite making sense to him. Silence lingered, awkward and heavy, as Wei struggled to internalize the concept.
After a long pause, Rafael nudged him gently. "Wei, are you alright?"
"Yes, yes," Wei stammered, blinking out of his stupor. "I’m sorry. What do you mean, you’re afraid of violence?"
"I don’t like it when people hurt each other," the Orc explained. "It makes me scared. That’s the reason why I fled from my warband."
Wei stared at the orc and nodded slowly, as if trying to process the foreign concept. "Well, that is... I’m sorry about your disability."
A groan escaped Rafael. Ellena buried her face in her hands.
"But at the end of this day," Wei continued with renewed determination, "there will be blood and violence enough that you will likely become more immune to it.”
A whimper came from Gazgul.
"Yes," Wei said firmly, "you won’t be making those noises anymore. You can thank me later. But now, let us go. I wish to see what the Claimed Hells have to offer."
Once more, they embarked. When the Oathbearers unsealed their makeshift gate, Wei noticed his Trespasser “neighbors” retreating into their homes meters away from the bottom of the stairs leading to the former consulate. They were clearly doing all they could to avoid him. He was fine with that. In fact, Wei quite preferred it this way.
For now. When the time came, he would see about expanding his current home as well. There must be a way he could persuade the Earthborn infesting this area to leave… or join him.
Suddenly, a shadow passed over the sky, and Wei received another notification that his arranged transportation was landing. Down from the sky came a massive spinal column clutching a set of passenger cabins. A set of wings flapped behind the column, but Wei’s Enlightenment also helped him notice that the spine was made from a strange alloy he wasn’t familiar with. It wasn’t bone. On the top side of the demonic spine, the words “Spinal Limo” glowed.
Spinal Limo Lv. 55
As the limo landed, its doors flipped open before Wei and the others.
“Don’t worry,” Rafael said. “The oculi will ensure no one slips in while we are away.”
“Good,” Wei said, though he still felt a bit paranoid, but that couldn’t be helped. Not after all he survived. “Well, disciples. We’re off, then. It is time we see the caliber of foes arrayed against us and how an Ascended Elder without a Class faces against one of Mepheleon’s empowered Sinners.”