This is not acceptable.
Failure—right now—is not acceptable. All Inheritors need to know what is at stake. Understand that if we are not the ones to reach Earth first, then we will be condemning our home—our people—-to the Fictionals and degenerates that lead them. Think of what they’ll do to our world. Our culture. Think of what might happen to all of us if they manage to reach the Vault first.
Firstly… You tell the Crosssroads that we don’t accept the money back. They are to keep deploying assassins after that boy until they get him or there is no one left to try. Next, you contact every contact and deep cover asset we still have left in the Claimed Hells. Especially the Dukes and Princes. Make whatever offers you can, and remind them that if Mepheleon manages to make himself a Priority-One Admin, then the Fathoms and reality will both become nothing more than his playthings.
And get in contact with the Deathless Lords of the Unfallen. The Dying Queen too. No, this is not an alliance, but we need someone to throw themselves at Mepheleon’s demons when the time comes. They won’t be winning anything if the Harbinger wins, either. Remind them of that.
Finally… Summon the rest of the Consuls. I want to speak with our Scion. It’s time the dog and I had another chat…
-Haytham Winters, Consul of the Inheritors
II-53
A Pact With Death
The Hound of the Withered Moon observed the young master with cold fascination. He was a child in many ways—undeveloped in mind and power. But there was also something else there. A growing will unlike anything the Hound remembered.
The God of Death has consumed System-hosts before. They went into the dark and settled in the frost like any other—each demise preserved and archived for the Hound’s use before the Final End. Yet, none of them resonated with such Will. Too much will for a creature of such paltry Essence.
Concept Breakers were known to exceed certain parameters and rules, but there was something more here.
Then, there was also the strange armored specter hovering near them, looming always. From what the Hound could tell, this entity was an Antediluvian Skill of some fashion—-so potent it might as well be an externalization of the boy’s Essence. It was another ability that someone of Wei’s Essence Level should not have.
And then there was his parentage—and the Harbinger’s interest in him…
He was being groomed for purpose. The vector of his eventual fate was aimed at Earth. Earth — that dull, hollow realm dry of spirit but nested with life; the Trespassers there lived, withered, and died, each passing a taunt to the Hound. Every mote of their being compelled them to crystallize the fallen in memory, yet even as they tried to reach through the protective veil guard Earth, the dead would not answer, would not come.
“Let—let go…” Venedrian whimpered. The Hound’s attention shifted briefly to their current Scion. Ah, he was returning to life. The Blade of the Verdant Seas injected more branches through the Hound’s arm, writhing tendrils trying to connect with the trapped Scion. The Hound wouldn’t be able to keep them in this realm for much longer — their opposite would see the living returned soon.
Time was growing short.
For Wei and his family.
For the Scion’s rest.
For the Hound to consider the Harbinger’s arrangement.
The Master of the Claimed Hells clearly wanted the Hound and the remaining gods of the old ages to intervene on his behalf. The collective favor of the divine could fuel him with enough Essence to flood entire portions of Earth and allow for more forces to cross through. Yet, the Hound found themselves reluctant, despite their desire to claim the fallen of the High Anchor in existence.
The ultimate truth was, the Hound was an entity created for function, created eons past at the hands of the truly powerful to deny the nothingness of oblivion and safeguard those who dwelled in the Claimed Hells. Though their creator was long absent, though, the remaining directives still compelled the Hound like searing chains. They could not abandon their station, and if someone wished to breach the High Anchor, then all gods were to serve as a final line of defense.
“So,” the Harbinger’s voice pierced the darkness that housed the Hound’s consciousness. “What do you say about my offerings?”
“You return only what was already mine, and your promises remain as nebulous as your words.”
“Yet you have not banished me,” the Harbinger laughed. “That must mean I have piqued your curiosity.”
The Hound of Death wasn’t truly capable of emotions, but they also understood annoyance to be more than a mere feeling, and annoying was what the Harbinger was. “Perhaps I simply wish to claim you.”
“And you might just be one of the few beings in existence that has the power. But think of it. Think of what you could be without the leash of your orders, if you could truly achieve your maximal functionality. Imagine being able to shape death to your own parameters, to consume the Trespassers as well. That’s what awaits us in the Vault.”
“I am not foolish enough to believe you will share in such treasures.”
“And I am not arrogant enough to think that I can best the Dying Queen, the Inheritors and all their caged gods of my own accord,” the Harbinger replied with a sigh. “Just as I am sure you know that the others will see to steal from you your Concepts when they think themselves powerful enough.”
The Hound ruminated on these words. The catalyst for its avatar cracked slightly as the Scion began to struggle. “Let—let me go! I need to… I need to live… She… She still needs me. Aerea…”
The God of Death ignored the words of its so-called offspring, choosing to continue its dialogue with the Harbinger. “And you will not?”
“Oh, no, I absolutely will. But not until the situation is stable. I am not one to betray the few allies I have when there are greater adversaries to face. You can trust in my self interest more than my nobility.”
An ever dubious statement. But still, the Hound admitted the man had a point. The Harbinger was a creature molded from Sin, but ultimately, this was all but a game to him. There was no malice here. If he could prevail without killing his opposition, he could. The same could not be said of the Dying Queen or even the avarice of the Inheritors.
“Again. You can take back what I’ve stolen from you. I come to you today to give peace offerings and a major opportunity. Have the Inheritors called you yet? Have your favored Unfallen demanded your aid?” The Harbinger’s questions hung for a beat.
This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.
“They will soon. I can hear the Inheritors preparing the summoning ritual for my other Scions.”
“Yes. But they’re only doing this because they’re worried you’ll say yes to me. Quite insulting, if I don’t say so myself.”
“Insults mean nothing to me.”
“Oh, but performing your role does. And they only come to you when they need something. No offerings, just demands and compulsions. They think they own you, Hound. And eventually, they’ll imagine a world without you.”
“I wish to speak with him,” the Hound said, turning his attention back to Wei. “The host of the Concept Breaker?”
“What?” the Harbinger sounded almost surprised. “The boy.”
“I will not strike any bargains with you, Deceiver. But child… he makes me curious. There is something about this one that is… deliciously wrong.”
“Oh, so you feel it too? I suspect his Willpower was the only thing keeping him from coming apart before Source Corruption when he first obtained his System. Perhaps the baseline Aspect the System rooted itself upon froze his spirit in that ever-surging state.”
“Conjecture. I am not interested in that. I am interested in speaking to him. Tell him to make ready.”
“Sending me along to serve as your errand boy?” the Harbinger laughed. “The audacity.”
“The courtesy. I could just tear him away from this archived moment. I have given him more than most—the privilege only afforded to him because of his importance to what will come.”
“And before the fact that he can actually leave us harmed permanent?” A taunting quality entered the Harbinger’s voice.
“Yes,” the Hound admitted without hesitation. “He will not be hard to eliminate, but his System will leave its mark. A mark I cannot abide in this realm.”
“So be it. Could you perhaps—”
“I have given him enough time,” the Hound proclaimed as more of its frosted shell began to crack and crumble. A muscular arm breached their body. Branches of wood were fused to the Bastard’s veins as he struggled and reached for the blade.
“Fine. But if you give him more in the future… I hope you understand how much power you have over his fragile little heart.”
With that, the Harbinger’s stench receded back to the vessel he wore here—the Trespasser that was the new Concept Breaker’s father. It was interesting how he let his former mate to bring him to the brink of death over and over again. Now, he knelt there in the remembered dirt of his former home, weeping like child.
The pain inside of him was wondrously staggering.
Mortals were truly fascinating creatures, be they Fictional or real.
***
Watching his father weep made Wei feel evermore the child. He hated his father, but the sight horrified and scarred him. It took substantial effort for him to not hyperventilate. What hurt him more was how his mother looked so broken, so defeated. There was no peace for her even after death.
Mere minutes before, he would have thought himself in a fantasy for getting to see her again. Now, it crippled his heart to admit he wished he never came. She didn’t deserve this. She deserved peace and joy and anything but this misery. There were no words to describe the coldness of the heavens.
“Wei. Your time is up. The Hound wants to speak with you.”
Almost no words. “What? No—no!” Wei growled. His sudden response made his mother look at him.
“An Wei?” She said, gripping his arm and sniffling. “What is wrong?”
“I need more time!” Wei said, speaking loudly, openly. He stepped away from his mother and seized his father by the throat. “Do you hear me? I will not—”
“It’s not up to you. Not up to the Hound either. He can’t keep you here for much longer. But he might be able to let you visit again.”
The Harbinger’s voice echoed out from William Yu’s mouth now, and Wei Jing Quan took a stunned step back.
“That… power,” she breathed, feel the lightest sliver of Mepheleon’s being.
“Oh, hello, Madam. A fine boy you’ve raised. I would promise to take care of him, but alas, we don’t live in such a kind world. But do take heart. I suspect the Fathoms will have more to fear from him soon than he does from it.”
Smears of darkness and all-consuming cold tore through this imagined realm. The Shell looked up beside Wei. “The Harbinger speaks the truth. We are out of time. This place will return to the dark from which it came.”
“I didn’t—” Wei’s breath hitched as he turned to his mother—to the rest of his sect. “This wasn’t long enough.”
“It never is,” the Harbinger’s voice took on a pensive quality. “You have my pity, if nothing else, my boy.”
“Wei?” his mother said. Her eyes darted from point to point as she watched her realm come apart in patches of moldering darkness. “Is… it is time.”
“No,” Wei said, rushing toward her. “Mother, I—”
He never managed to finish his words as a patch of existence ruptured open before him. The coldness of death washed over his being, made him cry out once more. The Gravechill was as bad as he remembered, but through his Fortification, he was able to resist just a little bit more.
“No!” Wei cried, summoning both his scythe and Pale Fang. He veiled himself in a shroud of ash—brought his Path of the Martial Harvester high as he tried to cut at this place, to cut the darkness open and reclaim what was taken from him.
But then the shifting darkness around him closed around his limbs like the jagged maw of a ravenous beast. An agony unlike anything poured through Wei. He howled, the cry so savage his throat tore and blood spilled out from his mouth. His thoughts came asunder as tides of pain threatened to drown his consciousness. Yet, he still struggled, still tried to push through the suffering.
“This should be beyond your ability to resist,” the Hound said, their voice lacking any particular rancor. They emerged from the dark a broken shape; fractals of shattering frost parted further, deforming the visage of a nightmarish hound as the Bastard thawed at its core. The man was trying to force his way free, the expression on his face strained with suffering, just like Wei. “And unlike my spawn, you lack my blessing.”
Wei tried to channel his Ambition into the Hound. But then the jaws gripping his limbs released him, and he crashed down upon a chilling surface of ink-black oblivion. For a moment, Wei couldn’t figure out if darkness was creeping across his vision or if he was simply staring at the floor. Slowly, his Omniscience returned to him—alerted him to the God of Death towering over him.
And Wei spat at their feet. “I wasn’t… I wasn’t ready… I didn’t even get to bid them farewell.”
“What you desire means little,” the Hound said, looking down at him. But while their eyes were still pits of hollow blackness, the Bastard’s expression was drenched in pity. “But I can offer this moment to you again. Just as I can return the Queen of Dawnrest to her daughter for a time.”
“You can… you can…” Wei’s mind whirled. The Harbinger wasn’t lying. This wasn’t the last time. Might not be…
“Indeed. Death is my purview. The ones who pass are cataloged in the Final End’s waters. But as they have passed the final precipice, so to me they belong, now and hence.”
Wei nodded. Or tried. He couldn’t stop his body from shaking violently. It was so cold. Too cold.
Fortification > 65
“But if I will grant you this favor remains undecided.”
The young master balled his fists. Every part of him hurt, every bit of his body spasmed against the all consuming ice that ate through his very veins. But through a nigh-impossible effort he stood to face. “What… what do you want? What will this cost?”
The Hound considered Wei for a moment, and lowered its armored skull. As it drew close, Wei could hear the Bastard wheeze: “D-don’t give it—don’t agree—to anything…” Whatever else the Bastard had to say died in his throat as clasping fingers of darkness closed over him.
“I want what I have always wanted. To catalog every death that is, that will ever be. Every death. Including the Trespassers’. Including yours. But I am… limited to an extent. Bound by functionality. The Harbinger thinks he is clever, but I say he has missed something critical.” The Hound chuckled. “I will ask many things of you after this, Wei An Wei. But right now, I want you to break me.”