I so very often hear fools ask me, Mepheleon, aren’t you the lord of hell? Why do you particularly care about establishing bonds and creating healthy factions? Shouldn’t you be suckling marrow out of a sick child’s eye, or spit-roasting him and savoring the delicious screams of his parents?

Well, to this I say, fool, that is good fun and all. But have you considered longevity? Have you considered that functional institutions make a good state? The ones asking this are always poor material for sinners, rarely making it over a decade before they are cut down.

It’s quite simple. We are the users of corruption, but our corruption is our primary produce. We sell this to other lands. We sell our services, our powers, to other lands. But we should not suffer ourselves.

The reason why the Claimed Hells works is simple. Because there is hope. There is a possibility for virtue here, despite all the bad that powers us. Because those who are inhabited by their sins are usually undone by them, while those who practice atrocity but remain untouched will survive across eons of injustice.

This oxymoron, some might think, is also the reason why the greatest powers in the world—my ultimate Sinners, these Princes, Kings—all know that we get to enjoy our sinful delights so long as this enterprise remains common, and so long as said institutions remain undamaged in the face of it all.

-Mepheleon the Harbinger

II-41

Battlebonds (I)

As Wei led his sect into the gouge he had carved into the crimson nest, he observed several things with his Omniscience. The first was how his celestial flames, channeled through the outcroppings, prevented the briar’s complete closure. It seemed his Concept of Deconstruction formed something of a counter against the Dying Queen’s unceasing blood.

The second thing Wei noticed was how the blood interfered with his Omniscience. He could still see within it, but the images were blurry, like trying to peer into a murky lake. There were things moving behind the tendrils — beasts laden with spiritual presence. They all retained the Dying Queen’s stench, so separating the Bastard from them wasn’t hard. However, he only had a general sense of their direction.

Third was the faint Spatial Essence coursing through this nest of blood. The space within the enclosure of Briars was expanded. To put it simply, it was larger on the inside. When Wei and his sect entered, they found themselves cutting through way through a narrow chasm lead into the darkness.

Now, as the young master held his Pale Fang aloft, his radiant glow keeping the shadows at bay, he found them venturing across scab-formed bridges and through tunnels. Whatever Skill the Embraced used, it turned a good few hundred meters of blood-coated throne room into a labyrinth.

Scablings assailed Wei and his disciples during the journeys as well. These creatures emerged from the surrounding structure, shaped from hardened clumps of dried blood. They ran from Essence Levels 14 to 45, and they primarily attacked in hordes of forty at a minimum. When the first waves emerged, some of Wei’s disciples flagged. The Orc Chef made an audible whimper as they exploded out from the ground before them, launching needles of infectious crimson at Wei and his sect.

The young master dispatched that group with contempt. All it took was a gust of Divine Wind to dissolve the feeble monsters. The effort was so pitiful that he didn’t even gain any power from dispatching them. As such, he left this battle to his companions, seeing it as an easy opportunity for training.

So far… at least they haven’t been killed.

“Where are they? Where!” Garret cried as he fired arrow after arrow. Most of his shots splashed worthlessly into the quivering ichor that composed this unnatural delve. As his arrows were shaped from shadows, all it cost him was Essence. But Wei still scorned the lack of focus. Worse was how they failed to coordinate.

Scablings would pop up between his disciples, before slashing at their tendons or pulling them into the ground, now suddenly a liquid state of matter. Cries of horror sounded through the Drowned Sky Sect. A few missed exploding pancakes also caused a sudden onset of obesity. As they progressed, Wei protected them less and less, choosing instead to use his powers of Creation to mend their bodies when they were severely injured.

Ultimately, there were only three main individuals holding his sect together. The first was unsurprisingly Rafael. His Class Specialization provided invaluable in this place. He created mirrored illusions of his fellow disciples, expanded their numbers and infused them with ciphers that gave off Essence signatures. More than once did a Scabling burst out from the ground, only to bite into a mirage—and be cut down by a well-aimed dagger or ebony-arrow.

The second was Agnesia, whose draconic avatar became the group’s second source of light. She still lacked technique, foresight, and basic tactical comprehension, but her instincts guided her on a warpath. She burned, slashed, cleaved, ripped, and tore without ever losing momentum. She darted from disciple to disciple, guarding them as new threats emerged, saving them when Wei chose not to.

For some reason, the Scablings feared her black flames almost as much as they feared Wei’s celestial radiance. When she came, most simply chose to run.

The only few times she found herself in trouble was when she overextended, pushing well beyond the group and getting surrounded. A few hundred bloody needles peppered her from all directions when that happened, but the Ferro-Weave Wei had gifted her proved to be an excellent set of armor.

The fluid metal parried and deflected oncoming attacks, and the Railblade Slash allowed Agnesia to leave trails of draconic fire across the battlefield, allowing her to enter and leave engagements at will against weaker threats.

Yes, the way she fought suited a skirmisher. Training her further down this path would be most prudent.

“Left!” Mira cried. She let out a screech, and the air before her vibrated. A dozen Scablings burst apart like viscous pimples, and Wei felt the elf’s Class Level advance. Sadly, that wouldn’t be enough to stem the tide as a few hundred more of blood-born emerged from the red beneath their feet—and were promptly fused in place as the Oathbearer’s brought their hammers down again.

Unlike the rest of his disciples, the main utility Wei found in his Oathbearers wasn’t combat—they were more than capable there as well. Rather, it was their ability to instantly construct fortifications, objects, equipment, and even complex machinery at the swing of their hammers.

“Expanding platform. Remember to jump!’ Stalag cried. The opal-visored Oathbearer chuckled as he swung his hammer back and swatted a leaping Scabling aside. When his next blow fell, steam filled the air around the other disciples, and a series of curses followed. Beneath their feet, another metallic platform materialized, slicing through the Scablings that have yet to dive beneath the crimson.

“Expanding barricades!” Agate cried right after, bringing his hammer down right after his forgekin did. Jagged battlements sprouted out from the sides of the platform. Leaping Scablings slammed into steel walls where there was naught but open air a mere second ago. Then, the Oathbearers started constructing Precision Cannons, allowing even the less offensively oriented of the sect to deliver worthwhile damage.

Thus was how Wei’s sect advanced, one part sloppy, undisciplined army, another part a rapidly constructed mobile fortress that was being held together by a select few champions and an elite crew of engineers.

Well, twosome. Wei felt a pang of guilt that Roggi was undergoing morphological treatments now. He would have enjoyed this.

A deafening cry reverberated through the blood nest. At that, the Scablings went still and receded into the red en masse. Wei’s eyes narrowed.

“Seems like they had enough,” Agnesia said. She was drenched in layers of blood, but with a pulse of her flames, they rose from her body in wafts of fetid steam. Wei regarded her for a moment and found that she had gained more than a few levels herself.

Agnesia of Dawnrest Lv. 72

There was also the way her pupils were dilated, the look of sheer excitement on her face. It was good to enjoy a battle, but Wei knew it as the refinement of his virtue, the improvement of his personal art. For Agnesia, it seemed combat was quickly becoming a point of pleasure. That was…

He didn’t fully know what to make of that.

Another bellow sounded from someplace afar. It was guttural. Inhuman. The threats of blood that composed this space shivered from the volume. The aftermath felt like a slight earthquake beneath Wei’s feet.

“What do you think that is?” Agnesia asked. Ahead, a vertical cut left a gateway for them to follow. A cut that left the blood lined in an outline of chilling, silvery Essence. This was a wound left by the Bastard. More curiously, it seemed like the blood struggled to close these cuts as well.

If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

“Who,” Wei replied. “The Bastard has some lungs on him.”

Looking behind, he took in his sect. Mira was pulling dagger after dagger out of her Inventory, counting how many she had left. The Oathbearer’s created a ceiling over their expanding defenses, preventing ambushes from above. Ellena directed her summons to carry the exhausted and wounded with the rest of the group. Three flying Oculi sailed out from Rafael’s grasp and progressed into the opening before them.

“Recover,” Wei said, calling out to his disciples. “Our enemy flocks to eliminate the Bastard. Or so I assume. Whatever the case, you have been given a moment to breath. So use it.”

His reply came in grunts and murmurs, but also more weapons being drawn, Essence-refilling items used, boasts exchanged, and a building confidence sweeping through his group.

“Kept thinking all that would be the end of us,” Garret said, as he peeked over the battlements. “Haven’t killed that many creatures charging my wall since… Shite, I don’t think I remember.” He let out a laugh a looked at his bow. “Fucking Scablings could a lance of good men apart back home. And here I am, killing them by the score.”

“Power is sublime, ain’t it,” Mira grinned.

The Shadow Archer nodded.

It seemed Agnesia wasn’t the only one enjoying herself.

They proceeded with Rafael scouting for them. His Oculi remained ahead, while he also created multiple illusory versions of their sect manifested ahead of them. Despite this, no further Scabling raids followed.

“Wei… connecting… need…” Bishop cut in and out of Wei’s mind. He wasn’t completely severed, but it was harder for him to reach the young master in this space. Wei tested the distortive effects of the blood by sending a message to Agnesia. A thread of Essence left him, but quickly corroded before it fully arrived. Agnesia regarded him with wide eyes.

“Something wrong?” She asked.

“Yes,” Wei replied. “Remind me to blast you all with my fires as this is done.” His Omniscience didn’t sense any infections spreading among his people. With the Dying Queen, though, one could never be sure.

Their travels continued a while longer before they finally arrived before a large open cavern that let out into a round scab-formed platform which overlooked a sunken pit in the ground. The Oculi scouted the place first, and Wei detected the Bastard’s presence immediate thereafter. Kneeling atop a mountain of unmoving bodies, flowing streams of ghostly moonlight flowed into the Bastard, into his blade as well.

The young master observed the scene that Rafael projected over to him and nodded. “Well done, Rafael.”

“I cannot identify his Essence,” Rafael said, sounding apprehensive. “It is not Frost, as I guessed earlier. But there is a likeness there. A closeness that can be compared to an analogy.”

“Analogy is right,” Wei responded. “I cannot place him either. Did you sense that his blade as an Aspect of Enlightenment as well?”

“Enlightenment? I thought it was purely Mind.”

“No,” Wei replied. “That weapon is more alike to me in some ways.”

“Then, it cannot be an Eidolon,” Rafael stated. “Eidolon’s do not have minds of their own. I suspect we might be facing an Awakened Weapon. Or a Spiritbound Artifact. One with another’s soul fused to it.”

“So, what’s that mean?” Agnesia said, slipping into the conversation. “That this Bastard has added help when he fights? That his sort counts as another Knight in battle?”

“At least,” Wei replied.

She thought about that for a moment and pouted. “Well, how’s that bloody fair.”

Wei shrugged, more fascinated than jealous. “Seems fine to me.”

“That’s because you’re a special git with a System, Wei. Not all of us have a bloody System.”

“Yes. I’m sure that’s the main thing stopping you from being a great warrior.” Wei grinned.

The princess glared at him. “Hey. What’s that supposed to mean?” She began punching him in his right arm, and Wei just laugh. “What’s that supposed to mean? A peasant does not have the right to mock nobility.”

“Peasant,” Wei snorted. “If I am a peasant, you are a toad, Agnesia.”

The punching intensified. The air itself shook from every impact. Actually, it was starting to hurt. “Agnesia, fun as this is, we must remain focused. You can train your Strength and my Fortification later. “I need to speak with my supposed rival now. See why he’s just kneeling there.”

Wei and his disciples emerged from their walkway in an outpouring of steam. The Oathbearers built over everything they could, further securing the sect’s position against future assaults. Wei held up a hand and called his group to a halt. “Rafael. Aid Stalag and Agate with defenses. Prepare illusions as well. Agnesia. Ready the others. You are to retreat back across the passage in case this goes poorly.”

“Expecting a fight with him here? Now?” Her eyes were wide, and she bit her lip—a show of concern.

Wei shook his head. “No. I do not think so. But I think the implication is deliberate. This is why the Collectress sent him in. Why Mepeheleon has not intervened. The former wishes to learn of my mettle from her champion. The latter is interested in being amused. Or has some other high-minded scheme in place that we can’t even perceive.”

“Alright,” Agnesia breathed. “But after that—”

“After that you stay on guard and keep the others safe,” Wei cut her off. “Do not get between us if a battle follows. I cannot gauge his true power; I cannot ensure your safety should combat follow.”

“I don’t need to be looked after,” Agnesia said, folding her arms. “I’m a Classed. Just like you.”

Wei opened his mouth, preparing a retort, demanding she comply as he was her patriarch. But then he paused. “Yes. Yes, you are. And you are on the path as well. A cultivator. Such is our lot in life.”

She blinked, not expecting his acquiescence so soon.

“‘One who court power, courts death as well,’” Wei continued. He gave her a solemn look. “I will respect your choice. I will honor your courage. I will mourn your death, if that is what follows.” He scanned the rest of his disciples thereafter. “The same applies to all of you. As disciples, I promise only the potential of power, of being more than what you are. But I cannot promise you your lives. That comes with our struggle against the heavens. As disciples, you are not slaves. But know this: There are no roads that can be trod without consequence. I will protect you if I can. But your ultimate fate belongs to you and you alone.”

His Shell manifested over Ellena. And for a moment, Wei flinched, saw his own mother’s shadow.

“You speak these words,” the Shell murmured. “But they are false in your heart. You do not believe them.”

This is how cultivators are. This is the way of our lives.

“And if Agnesia’s life is the cost of certain victory? If Ellena must be spent to strike down the Inheritors. Will you turn from them? Or will you break. As you have broken mere days ago.”

Wei remembered the Hearted Realm. Ellena. Her beheading. Agnesia’s screams. Heavens, her screams. He couldn’t… he couldn’t…

“Take care of your mother,” Wei said, forcing his breath to remain under control.

“Alright—” Agnesia grinned, only to freeze when he reached up and clenched her shoulder.

“And whatever you do, do not die. I will not allow it. I forbid it.”

Wei walked away then, barely noticing Rafael looking between him and Agnesia, or the redness crawling across her face. As he got to the edge, he looked down, at saw the Bastard still squatting there… talking to his sword.

The young master frowned. Well. Two possibilities here. Awakened blade or madman. Maybe both.

“We hallucinate our mother sometimes,” the Shell snorted.

Right. It wasn’t that bad being a madman.

“Esteemed Bastard,” Wei said, wincing at how that sounded. He cursed himself for not asking if the Bastard had an actual name. It was like insulting the poor man. “Esteemed fellow Knight,” Wei corrected. “Why do you kneel amidst those bodies? Is something amiss?”

The Bastard went still, then slowly turned to face Wei. He was entirely covered in blood and gore. But his blade was still pristine. Clean like the face of the moon. The Bastard shot his greatsword another few glances before letting out an annoyed growl. “I… I’m not really sure where to go next.”

Wei paused. He swept his gaze across his surroundings and… Well, this place was a nightmare to traverse. But he could still feel a faint Essence signature somewhere far above them. “Understandable. But I think I can help you there.”

The Bastard’s eyes narrowed. His black locks of hair swayed over his scarred face like a midnight curtain. “Why? What do you want?”

“To see how you fight up close, mainly,” Wei said, choosing honesty. “Also, the idea of me besting you solely because you have the direction sense of a blind and deaf mule does not make for a boast-worthy story.”

Slowly, almost imperceptibly, the Bastard’s lips did something.

“Is he smiling?” the Shell asked.

I can’t tell. I don’t think his face knows what it’s doing.

“Perhaps this is a stroke.”

“Fine,” the Bastard said. “You try to knock me off though, and I’m going to pull that girl in half.”

Wei nodded, though his grip around his Pale Fang grew tighter. “If I intended to do you harm, we would be fighting right now.”

“Hm. Saved your own life.”

“Might have saved yours.”

The two stared at each other a second longer. And then shared a snort.

“Would you like to be cleansed? Have your armor and equipment repaired?” Wei flared his Eidolon. “My flames hold the Concept of Creation.”

“That work on a lot of people?” the Bastard asked.

“It does when the offer is honest.”

The Bastard paused and shrugged. “Fine. Let’s see it. But if you burn me—”

“You’ll try to kill Agnesia. I know. I suspect she’ll take personal offense to that and try to beat you to death with her brute strength and terrible technique.”

A shrill cry sounded from behind him. “Wei! You knave!”