Chapter Forty-Three

Eventually, it was time to enter the arch that led to the summit. Melanie and Jackson were fully rested and prepared as they could be for the challenge ahead. They had grown to journeyman rank and even had concepts; though they were beginning ones, they were still there and still added to their power. Still, the bloodfyre worm was a powerful foe, and one they had been warned again and again about, both by Lazarus and Bob.

Still, there was no other way but forward; there was nothing else they could do except face the challenge. Or else stay in the dungeon, which was not an option either of them were considering. They wanted out. They were going to achieve that goal, no matter what. With that resolve pulsing through them, they entered the arch. A wave of heat blew over them, rustling their hair and kissing their skin with its heat.

Jackson expected to see a massive dragon in that pool of dark violet lava, but that expectation was disabused, as instead of a dragon, there was a woman. Chains of pulsing black and purple energy were lashed around her legs and arms, somehow anchored into the water.

Wings of dark purple fire extended from her back, waves of heat pulsing from them, sucking life from the very air. Somehow, those too were chained, prevented from extending any further, or even moved. Jackson wasn’t sure how you could chain literal wings of fire, but someone had managed it. Then a voice—a bored, tired, and deep voice—rumbled across the mountain. There was an age to that voice, an ancient age that seemingly held the eternity of time to it.

“Bloodfyre Wyrms were said to be fallen angels. Warrior of the Eden Tree. Some myths are true.”

A figure materialized to the side of the angel. Jackson's eyes widened as he recognized him. It was Delathorn. The rogue had spoken to them all at the beginning of the dungeon. He wore the same simple leathers and dark hood, with features hidden within. He was lean, but now Jackson could feel an ancient aura pulsing from him, with a subtle, insidious undertone. It mixed with the air, twisting it, and a corrupted scent, like rotting wood, mixed with the smell of burning ash. Beside him, Melanie looked equally shocked.

If he was satisfied with their shock, he said nothing. Instead, he gestured at the angel.

“Do you find her beautiful?”

Almost unwillingly, Jackson found himself studying the angel. She was, indeed, beautiful. She was pale, as if someone had taken moonlight and wove it into human shape. Her dark violet hair flowed in a silken wave down her back, and her face was heart-shaped and soft. Her light violet eyes were currently filled with indignant anger, almost smoldering; it was so palpable. She spoke in a language Jackson could not understand, though he noticed Lazarus’s eyes widen.

Delathorn did not respond to whatever it was she had said. He continued in his bored, emotionless tone,

“If you care to pay attention, you’ll notice that all of the Eden Tree’s creations are beautiful. The worlds connected to it, even the dungeons, have a sort of beauty to them.”

His voice took a turn then, filling with a subtle kind of scorn that Jackson could have missed had he not been paying such rapt attention to him.

“It’s a lie. A cover-up to hide the rot it spreads, it and its so-called judge. That’s what she is—this angel. A lie. Like every lie, when exposed to the truth, it dies, and the resulting death often comes with consequences.”

Delathorn seemed to regard the angel as one might regard an ant or an interesting thing he had found in his home. Then he turned to them.

“You two have come far. Journeyman rank, even. Impressive. Abaddon must be foaming at the mouth for you two to die a final death. Or he would be if I hadn’t killed him. You’re welcome, by the way. I am particularly impressed with you, Jackson. A vampyre, and finding Lazarus. Very well done. Unfortunately, I will be needing his skull from you, however.”

Jackson felt panic well up within him. Delathorn knew who and what he was. How? His hidden bloodline should have hidden him. He knew about Lazarus too, and the panic that built caused Jackson to take a step back. He had killed a literal god, which meant he was stronger than one. What chance did they have? Delathorn’s hooded head shook from side to side,

“You must be wondering how I know all of this. I’m not going to tell you. This isn’t the part of the story where I reveal my grand plan to you or monologue about how I manipulated you from the beginning. This is the part where you give me what I ask for, and I let you live.”

What scared Jackson was not the threat; it was how Delathorn delivered it. It was as if the rogue truly did not care whether or not Jackson complied. He was a minor chore to Delathorn, nothing more. Jackson meant as little to him as taking out the trash—less than that, maybe. Jackson took a breath. Regardless of how he felt, he would not give Delathorn the skull.

A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

“You can kill me if you want; the skull is bound to me,” Jackson said.

Delathorn waved a hand, a dismissive gesture, and Jackson felt a powerful aura bear down on him, bringing him to his knees as if the weight of a mountain had fallen on him, crushing him to the ground with undeniable force. Then Jackson felt something rip at his soul, as if two hands had grasped a hold of his spirit and Domain and began to tear it like a piece of paper one was discarding.

Lazarus’s eyes grew wide.

“Jacks-”

He got no farther, as the spirit was torn away from Jackson's perception. Melanie cried out, but Jackson didn’t hear what she said, as his world became painful. A phoenix cried, and he latched onto his concept, gritting his teeth as he glared daggers at the powerful rogue.

“Give. him. back, Bastard.”

Jackson raised himself to one knee and pushed himself against the undeniable aura. Delathorn let out an interested grunt, as if Jackson were a pet that had performed a particularly interesting trick.

“Impressive. You only have journeyman's willpower, but you’re pushing it. It’s operating at a near-expert rank right now. Truly, you have amazing potential. Give me the skull, boy.”

Jackson snarled at him, baring his teeth in defiance of his aura.

“Eat. Shit.”

Delathorn's head cocked, and he let out a sigh and snapped his fingers.

Melanie collapsed beside Jackson, and his eyes widened. He cried out in despair. No, she couldn’t be dead.

“She isn’t dead. I will be taking her with me. Insolence has its costs, boy. Last chance, give me the skull, or I will kill you.”

Jackson looked from Melanie to the rogue. He loved her. Yet Lazarus had been his teacher and his friend from the beginning of this adventure. Giving him up meant betraying him. Without the skull, the rogue could not truly bind the spirit to him. Jackson had no doubt Delathorn could force Lazarus into the binding if he wished. Delathorn let out an annoyed sound, the first real emotion Jackson had heard from him.

“I guess further demonstration is required to convince you how hopeless your situation is. Very well.”

Something pulsed from Delathorn, an energy of some kind; it expanded from him and covered everything in an eerie purple light. Jackson almost vomited as he felt corruption settle over everything. They no longer seemed to be at the summit. Instead, Jackson found himself in a twisted landscape of a dead and dying forest. In the distance, a vast, all-encompassing tree covered the sky.

The tree was wrong. From it came a twisted, vile corruption that spread throughout the sky, its roots burrowing into the ground like fat, dark leeches, sucking life from it and twisting it to its vile purpose. Branches extended throughout the sky, veins of dark, pulsing purple that filtered the air, turning it rancid.

This place, this world, was an antithesis. An antithesis of life, of goodness. It represented life and joy turned into a hellscape, a rotting place of corruption and evil. It was sickening, powerful, horrifying, and everything that was opposite of life. Delathorn floated in the air, the corruption flowing not through him but from him, as if he were the very heart of this place.

Jackson's eyes widened, and his mouth fell open. They were in Delathorn's Domain. Somehow, he had transferred them here. Jackson knew that the tree was Delathorn's concept somehow. A twisted evil thing, but beyond powerful, given a substance and reality on a level that Jackson's concept did not come even close to equaling. A vine Jackson did not see speared through his chest, and as it did, Delathorn’s voice resonated around him, coming from everywhere.

“It’s no use trying to fight. You cannot combat a Domain expansion without one of equal rank. You are out of your depth, boy. You have stepped into a raging ocean when you are only ready for a pool.”

Jackson tried to fight, tired of weaving blood lightning surges, and tried to veilstrike the vine. Anything and everything he could do, he tried. Nothing worked. He was cut off from his Domain, and not with some flimsy barrier either; he was well and truly cut off. He was helpless.

There were no tricks of willpower that would help Jackson here. No amount of self-reflection and determination would save him. There was no help from Melanie or Lazarus; there was nothing. He had nothing, and before this thing, he was nothing. Another vine pierced his chest, and he cried out from the pain of it. His regeneration was doing nothing.

“You’ll be happy to know that I uncorrupted this level's safe zone. I had to do a little cleaning first, but it’s working now. I admire your grit, boy. I really do. But this is the end of the road. There is nothing here you can consume, nothing you can do.”

Jackson glared up at the rogue and cried out again as a third vine pierced through his shoulder. He could feel the corruption within him, battling his regeneration.

Your phoenix regeneration has been disabled due to corruption.

He coughed up blood, still glaring at Delathorn.

“You're a monster,” Jackson coughed.

Delathorn nodded at Jackson's words.

“Yes. I am. Lazarus’s skull will be well used; I want you to know that. I am going to take Melanie to Aetherius and give her to some people. I wonder if you’ll be able to find her. It will be entertaining to watch. I have always been a sucker for romance, and I want to see how far you’ll go to recover your lost love.”

Jackson's gaze landed on Melanie’s unconscious form, laying there in that dead grass. Images flashed through his mind. Melanie was yelling at him, her hazel eyes flashing. Melanie as she flowed through the sanguinary forms. Melanie’s soft lips on his. She whispered words in his ear. Her loyalty, her smile, and the way she felt against him.

He tried to use it to fuel his anger to do something, anything, to try and fight this situation. Nothing happened. No mana came to his call; no weaves formed. Delathorn crossed his arms.

“You’re taking a while to die, I must say. If you find Melanie, I suggest you go somewhere far away. Live your lives and stay out of my way. Don’t come seeking vengeance. All you will find down that path is final death. Ah, I see you’re fading now. Goodbye, Jackson Grey.”

Jackson blinked, trying not to go.

You are near death.

No..I need to... darkness took him.