The Dying Queen governs not blood, but bonds—connections that stretch beyond the flesh, weaving the unseen threads of existence. Adhesion is the essence of her being, the force that holds her together and pulls others into her grasp. She fuses things, warps them, mutates them, conjoining all to her vast, inescapable design. In her, there is a singularity that cannot be ignored, a gravitational pull that defies reason.

I have heard her dreams. They come to me in the quiet hours, whispering like wind through cracked glass, soft yet insistent. When I sleep, her voice murmurs its intentions, wrapping around my thoughts. She seeks a world reshaped to her will—a world where all is family, all is bound. She dreams of unity, not as an ideal, but as a law, with herself at the center of it all. She and the world, fused as one. And her will, reshaping all of ours…

-Journal of an Embraced

II-40

In the Blood

“You wish to what?” Ellena gasped. Her daughter’s head swung like a pendulum, shifting between her, Wei, and the Collectress.

“I wish to see the Dying Queen dead.” The Collectress seethed. The world around her quivered as if oil stains spilling out around her person. Then, as she took a breath, her corrosive Essence receded. “I wish to see her broken, choking on the very blood she used to infest me, to turn me, to take my will.”

The Collectress’s voice sharpened with venom, every syllable laced with fury. “Do you remember, Queen Ellena? Fighting yourself—fighting—and your very body tells you to betray yourself. To give yourself as a slave to an unworthy, unhuman mistress who sees us all as playthings for her playhouse, for her to toy with forever.”

The Collectress’s snarl was guttural now, more like a rabid dog than a woman or a demon.

Wei was stunned by the sudden outburst. He shifted his focus, using his Omniscience to study the others. The Count of Pride merely tilted his head with an air of fascination, as though this was a tantrum he’d endured many times before. But Death Bastard—he was the interesting one. His expression betrayed apprehension, his mouth slightly ajar in surprise. It was clear he hadn’t expected this, either.

“Is she faking this?” Wei asked Bishop through the shared link.

The Trespasser hesitated before finally responding. “I don’t know. We don’t have anything on the Collectress being a former Embraced. Still. This is the Claimed Hells. Anyone could be lying here. Playing you to their own ends. I’ll take a peek in your father’s memories. See if he can give us something useful.”

Right. Of course. William Yu was tasked with killing the Collectress—or so she claimed. Wei felt a tendril of magenta essence leave him. He was briefly worried that either the Old Man or the Collectress might notice, but neither responded. Seemed only he could see Bishop’s power.

As the psionic tendril dripped into William’s mind, he went still but did not give any other overt reactions. A beat later, Bishop replied. “Yeah… He took a job. He remembers putting a hole through her skull. Apparently, she got infected during a system war between the Claimed Hells and the Dying Queen. Tapped some other sources too. Seems that being near death resulted in the Dying Queen withdrawing her influence long enough to let the Collectress return to being herself. She got help from her Circle afterward—spent a good few decades out of commission. Spiritually diminished too.”

That was more than just cause for vengeance. The pieces were coming together.

“Princess Agnesia,” the Collectress said, her voice cutting through Wei’s thoughts. “Look upon me. I am no noble soul, no proper lady of esteemed virtue.” She fell silent, letting her words linger in the air before continuing. “But I want you to trust in something. Trust in my hate. Trust that this is not a selfish desire for me to possess you—that this bid is an alliance, more than it is you surrendering yourself to me. The bet is for pleasure—excitement. But I want you—all of you.” She gestured to Wei and his entire sect. “Not as slaves, but as willing partners in this enterprise of revenge. She has taken much from all of us.”

Agnesia, startled by the Collector’s sudden outburst, hesitated before replying, “I don’t—why does the Harbinger not deal with her?”

“The Harbinger?” The Collector spat the words with scorn. “Our esteemed master finds it useful to keep the Fathoms at war, to see his peers feed on us, to ensure this conflict rages eternally. It fuels him. Do you know what sins are? They’re the foundation of his power. Every wrong deed, every ill action, every ounce of misery—it all funnels into him, feeding his strength, letting him create more.

“What do you think shapes the rings of Preceptor’s descent? He is forged from misery and wrongness. Of course, he keeps the Dying Queen alive. She’s not a true threat—just a lonely monster given the power of a god. If someone else takes her System, then finally, there would be another threat.”

“Oh, how amusing it is to glimpse the opinions of my subjects,” Mepheleon chuckled in the back of Wei’s mind. The young master shivered. Bishop cursed. Everyone else in the chamber remained blissfully ignorant. “Worry not. I’m just peeking in. Keep playing your little schemes. They do so amuse me. As does what is about to follow.”

Before the conversation could go further, three thunderous knocks echoed through the throne room. The sound reverberated through the air, making Way’s bones rattle. All heads turned toward the massive doors at the far end of the chamber. The Count narrowed his eyes briefly as an Essence thread pulsed into his skull. A broadcasted message, no doubt.

He waved a hand, and the grand doors creaked open.

Two towering figures clad in heavy gold plate entered, dragging a brutalized lump of flesh across the floor. Blood leaked from the man’s broken body, forming a crimson trail behind him, marring the white, black, and gold tiling that made up the floor with unwelcome red. But Wei sensed something else about them. A pulse of familiar, thirsty Essence. The power that belonged to the Dying Queen.

Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

“Embraced,” Bishop muttered in Way’s mind.

The young master stiffened. How had an Embraced made it into the Mansion of Pride? The Count looked equally perplexed.

“What the hell is this?” he barked, gesturing toward the figure. “How did this thing get in my house?”

“He merged with the shadows of one of the servants,” one guard explained. Their voice sounded steady, but that was when Wei’s Omniscience sensed something else. Their blood was flowing unnaturally, and a foreign signature was flowing through them—the open wounds weeping across the vampire’s body were actually crawling up the guards’ limbs, burrowing under their flesh… twisting them.

“They did not capture the Embraced,” the Shell proclaimed. “It is controlling them. Using them to get inside!”

Omniscience > 61

>[59/100] Aspect Advancements to Core Ascension

A massive Dialation-Echo manifested before Wei. A near second into the future, the Embrace would detonate his blood-slaves. Veins of slashing red would cut across the room, killing multiple members of his sect. The young master sprung into action, not wasting time on explanations.

“Ambush!” He roared, channeling his Empyrael Wrath. Celestial fire poured out from the young master’s glaive. He brought up a slash. In the same instant, both the golden guards burst apart in fissures of gore. From them sprawled forking fingers of ichor, burrowing through the tiled flooring, splitting through the demonic guards on standby—only to be severed in return by Wei’s radiant attack.

His power of Deconstruction graced the Dying Queen’s fetid blood, and his power prevailed. An arcing slash formed a defensive barrier behind his disciples. The orc chef stumbled back, throwing cupcakes that detonated into massive explosions of cream. Mira Nocture manifested her Skill—some manner of stealth technique. She opened her mouth, and a billowing wave of darkness shrouded everyone on Wei’s end of the throne room. The Oathbearers slammed their hammers done, forging fortifications in bursts of steam, while Rafael unleashed cipher after cipher.

But for all their promptness, their power paled before the Count and the Collectress. At once, Wei felt an immense swell of Essence wash over him. So much spiritual pressure came down on the room that the edges of existence quivered. Two suns flared at opposite ends of the throne room. The first was a white globe of protective brilliance. It bathed Wei and his allies with its power, multiplying their Aspects by a factor of ten. Wei’s muscles pulsed with impossible strength, reflexes accelerated to unimaginable heights, skin turned impenetrable, mind slickened with alacrity, and senses sharpened to the finest detail. The only Aspect that remained unaffected was his Will.

The same boons were bestowed upon his allies, and thus was the reason behind their prompt response. But on the Embraced’s side of the room, a black sun burned, melting through the mansion itself to incinerate the wretched intruder. The Count of Pride achieved this through raw output of power alone. His flames were a greater variant of pure Destruction from what Wei could sense. It wasn't nearly as sublime as the Celestial Vanguard’s attacks and for that, the young master felt thankful.

With every passing day, he knew his experiences at the Tower of Possibility to be a privilege few would ever learn.

That being said, the Old Man still reminded Wei of the difference between a Count and Knight. In a few seconds, he almost outputted half of Wei’s entire Essence threshold. The black sun expanded, becoming a supernova. But even as it grew to swallow a good portion of the mansion, the blood endured. It did not boil or evaporate. Instead, it held. Became as if a protective nest.

“What is this thing?” The Old Man scoffed.

“The Briars of Sanctuary,” the Collectress whispered. Wei noted then that the Countess of Lust hadn’t used any of her Skills or Invocations yet. Instead, Death’s Bastard was standing by her side, his massive greatblade drawn. As Wei laid eyes on his erstwhile rival’s naked weapon, he was surprised.

Its hilt resembled a mundane crossguard, but the blade itself flowed like liquid moonlight, waxing and waning. Previously, its spiritual signature was dim, though there was also a spark of Enlightenment within its shape. Now, Wei could feel it radiating with almost as much power as the Bastard himself, and threads of mental Essence were coursing between the sword and its user.

“Old Fool,” the Collectress breathed. “Conventional means will not see the Briars destroyed. The Dying Queen herself keeps the these veins nourished. Someone must force their way into the red and slay her conduits.” Her attention shifted to Wei and then jumped to her champion. “Perhaps we can all make a new wager right now: A formal toast declared to all members of the gala; an admission of one’s inferiority against a worthy adversary. A moment of pride granted to the one that cuts the Embraced down.”

“Won’t the Dying Queen just slay us if we dare approach,” Wei said, pouring more fire into the blood. He had an easier time slicing into the nest compared to the Old Man, but true to the Collectress’s words, it was for naught. It was like he was hewing his way through a rapidly regenerating layer of tissue.

“No,” the Collectress said, her face twisting in a sneer. “This is a challenge deployed toward us. An insult. She knows my plan—strikes at all of us to express her scorn. She will not dare transgress overtly, however. The Harbinger’s eyes are upon us. He will not intervene to save our lives, but he will ensure that another host does not spoil his fun.”

Wei reflexively looked up in exasperation.

“Go, Wei,” Mepheleon said. The Harbinger manifested loud cheering noises. “I am rooting for you. Don’t tell the others. Also, this should be a good time for you to cut loose a bit. You’ve been neglecting your System overlong. Show me what you can do. Cleave the poor girl’s flesh.”

“Can’t breach the nest either. It’s like a field of interference,” Bishop replied. It seemed like no one else heard the Harbinger.

“If that is the ascended elder’s will, then let it be done,” the Shell declared. “Let us earn some new Concept Shards.”

Wei swept his glaive and shot the Old Man a look. “Esteemed Elder, I beseech you. Watch over my sect. This foe is of no challenge to you, but here is another opportunity to show my worth. I accept the Matron’s challenge.”

The Old Man snorted. Both miniature suns atop his pauldrons crackled, sounding as if clapping hands. “Well, kid. Go out there and have some fun, then.”

The Collectress looked at him with an expression of pleasure. “You are a precious boy. And possibly a good influence on my oh-so-dour champion. Bastard. Go. See which of you has more mettle. Let the foreplay simmer.”

Her words made Wei do a double-take, and he noticed the Bastard seemed slightly disturbed as well. As they made eye contact, the atmosphere turned awkward. Wei resolved this by striding forward, his Eidolon piercing through the shadows unleashed by Mira.

“Wei,” Agnesia said, summoning her Ferro-Weave and boneblade. “I’m—”

“Stay here. Hold in place. Guard the others.”

“No,” she snapped. “You keep doing this! You keep running off and fighting things alone. How am I supposed to get any new levels if you keep doing all the bloody fighting? How are any of us supposed to get better if the battle is always about you, you, you?”

“Agnesia,” Ellena chided.

Wei froze in place. The Bastard kept walking, leaving him behind. The young master took a deep breath and sighed. “Collectress. Do you mind if others join in on this bargain of yours?”

“Oh, no. I do so wish to see how brightly a Scion of Ignium can burn. The more, the merrier.”

Wei looked over his disciples again—saw all of them using their Skills in sloppy but deliberate fashion. There was substantial risk bringing them against such a foe. But there was substantial risk to being alive in the Claimed Hells. Unnerving as it was to admit, Agnesia was right. Power was to be taken through righteous victory and tempered through desperate struggle.

“Come, then, disciples of the Drowned Sky Sect!” Wei’s voice resounded with authority. “Stride with your Patriarch. A mongrel has deigned to breach the hospitality of our esteemed host. It is our duty as guest to correct such behavior. Come. Show him what we’re worth.”

The Old Man fell back in his throne and clapped.

For the first time, the new Drowned Sky Sect marched as one toward whipping vines of crimson, protected by a star of white, walking toward a dawn of darkness. Blood-made tentacles burst out from the nest, the Bastard lifted his blade high, and the lunar glow it exuded grew ever-more beautiful to behold.

“Hold,” Wei said, flaring his celestial aura. “I will open a path—”

His sentence was left unfinished as the Bastard exploded forward in a blur, far faster than a man his size had any right to be. He twirled through the air, rolling with his blade as he tunneled into the nest, cutting it clean through where the Old Man’s flames could only keep it at bay.

Wei scoffed. Impatient. Not one to be left behind, he surged after his supposed rival. Wei wasn’t going to let someone else steal this opportunity to break the vampire. But even as split the closing Briars once more with his Divine Wind shot through—forced the path to remain open for his sect by running it through with Holy Crystalline outcroppings—he found his gaze following the Bastard’s blade.

Just what was the nature of that strange sword?