Chapter 26: Shock-waves
A shudder pulsed through existence, as if the universe itself had taken a breath and held it.
Far to the east, in a realm wreathed in molten rock and simmering flame, a figure sat atop a throne of jagged stone and magma. His skin, charred and cracked like the surface of a smoldering coal, was etched with scars of fire. His eyes, dull red like dying embers, flickered faintly in the dim glow of his surroundings.
With a deliberate slowness, he raised his hand, cutting off his adviser mid-sentence. His gaze, piercing and cold, shifted westward, beyond the horizon. The room fell silent, the heat in the air seemingly withdrawing as if the land itself awaited his reaction.
"Interesting."
His voice scratched across the air, a rasp that carried the weight of ash and burnt memories, grating against the ears of those present.
"That's... very interesting."
The adviser swallowed, fear visible in his eyes as he stammered, "P-pardon me, my Lord, but what is—"
The King's fiery gaze snapped to him, molten contempt swirling in his eyes. The room seemed to grow even hotter.
"You are not pardoned. Do not interrupt me."
With the flick of his wrist, a lazy motion that carried the force of inevitability, the adviser was consumed in flame. His form crumbled into ash in a blink, scattering on the winds that whispered through the throne room. A new adviser, poised and expressionless, stepped into the vacant spot as though nothing had occurred.
The King leaned back on his throne, his eyes still locked on the distant west. A slow, predatory smile crept across his face.
"Welcome, new climber. It’s rare to witness a grand awakening. I hope you’re worthy of the title. If you live long enough, perhaps we’ll cross paths... and I’ll get the chance to kill you."
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Far above, in the endless blue expanse of the sky, a boy no older than fourteen lay reclined on a cloud, floating effortlessly through the heavens. His flowing blue robes shimmered in the sunlight, fluttering in the breeze like waves lapping gently against the shore. White hair, bright and wild, trailed behind him, and lightning danced in his eyes with an almost playful glint.
He gazed upward, lost in the tranquility of the sky, when he suddenly felt it—a ripple, a crack in the seamless peace. His head snapped downwards, his senses alight. A grin, sharp and mischievous, spread across his face.
"Hey... would you look at that."
He leaned forward, peering over the edge of his cloud with childlike glee, his eyes gleaming as the world below came into focus.
"That’s cool. I should go say hi. Or... maybe not just yet. Don’t want to scare the newbie. What do you think, Avora?"
From the folds of his robe, a small blue snake slithered into view, coiling itself delicately around his neck. Its scales shimmered like the ocean beneath the sun, and its voice, soft and innocent, whispered in his ear.
"He’s not very nice, I think. Let’s go tell Orile about him. He smells... strange."
The boy chuckled, his fingers brushing over the snake’s smooth scales. "Okay, okay. We’ll tell Orile. But after that, we say hi."
The snake tightened its coil slightly. "Let’s see what Orile says."
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In a quiet park shaded by ancient trees, an elvish woman sat calmly at a stone table. Across from her, an old man with a weathered face watched her with wise, tired eyes. Between them, a game resembling chess unfolded, though the pieces were identical—carved from the same dark wood, with no visible distinction.
The woman, her long silver hair cascading over her shoulders like a waterfall of moonlight, reached out to move one of the pieces. Her fingers hovered for a moment before finally setting it down on the board with a soft click.
Moments passed in silence. Then, she looked up at the old man.
"It’s your move."
The old man, who had been staring into the distance, blinked and refocused on her. His eyes, though ancient, were sharp with understanding.
"Did you feel that?" he asked, his voice a low murmur.
"Yeah," she replied, her tone as calm as ever, though a flicker of curiosity passed through her emerald eyes.
"Do you want to do something about it?" the old man asked, leaning forward slightly as if testing her resolve.
The woman gave a soft smile, serene and unbothered. "No."
"Good," the old man said, chuckling softly, his hands resting comfortably on the table. "Me neither."
They both turned back to the game, the faint breeze rustling the leaves above, as if the tremor they had felt in the fabric of existence was nothing more than a passing thought.
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A man floated in the abyssal depths of the ocean, legs crossed, eyes closed, breathing in slow meditative rhythm. His skin gleamed in the darkness, a vibrant pink hue contrasting with the black waters, and his long braids danced lazily in the currents. Around him swam colossal sea creatures—beasts of unspeakable terror, their hulking forms casting shadows on the ocean floor. One of the monstrous beings swam closer, its spiked, armored hide rippling with danger. Yet, as it neared, the man calmly opened his eyes and reached out a hand, gently petting the creature’s jagged surface.
A smile crept across his face as the abomination quivered under his touch, its many eyes closing in apparent bliss. "Who's a good boy? You are, you are," he cooed, his voice soft yet commanding. The beast responded, tremors of joy rippling through its enormous body.
He stretched lazily, somersaulting through the water in a fluid motion, then glanced northward, his eyes narrowing as if sensing a distant change.
"Hmmm," he mused, shrugging before turning back to his pets, "Good luck with that."
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Far beyond the stars, on the precipice of reality, a figure stood suspended in the emptiness of the void. His long, flowing robes shimmered with the faint glow of distant galaxies, his silver hair cascading down his back, as if woven from threads of starlight. His skin was pale, almost translucent, reflecting the shimmering lights of the cosmos around him.
He stared into the distance, observing the countless universes swirling and colliding, indifferent to the chaos beneath him. The weight of existence was nothing more than a fleeting thought, a trivial concern. Until now.
Suddenly, a tremor rippled through the void, a disturbance so subtle, yet so significant. His eyes flickered, pupils narrowing like a hunter catching the scent of prey. He smiled, a cold, calculating grin.
"Ah... I see."
His voice was like the sound of ancient stars exploding, quiet yet devastating. His gaze turned downward, piercing through layers of existence, and settled on a new flicker of power, still young but growing.
"Another one. A new soul space... and it’s strong," he muttered, intrigued. He slowly raised a hand, fingers delicately tracing invisible lines of power in the void, sensing the energy.
"I suppose I’ll watch... for now," he whispered, the grin never leaving his face.
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Beron watched from the edge of the dojo as Kronos stood up. There was an unmistakable shift in the air. The man who had once been Cal was no longer there. Kronos carried himself with a presence that radiated power, his movements deliberate and confident, as if the very space around him bent to his will. He turned and met Beron’s gaze, a small smile playing at the corner of his lips.
Beron grinned back, shaking his head in awe before both of them erupted into laughter, the sound filling the quiet dojo.
"Holy shit, Cal—that was insane! If I was alive right now, I'd be running in the opposite direction," Beron said, still chuckling. "You don’t even understand... that was a grand awakening! A grand awakening! So rare."
Kronos's smile widened. "It’s not Cal," he corrected with a smirk. "It’s Kronos now. And yeah, it was pretty fucking dope."
Beron’s eyebrows shot up. "Kronos, huh? Well, you’ve got your art now."
"Yeah," Kronos replied, his tone calm, but there was an undercurrent of pride in his voice. "Ascent of the Void Sovereign."
Beron blinked, then laughed again, this time with disbelief. "That’s what it's called? A little contrived, but cool. Just… maybe don’t go telling people that right off the bat. That name's got some weight behind it—people might get a little nervous."
Kronos shrugged, unfazed. "What’s next?" he asked, eyes sharp and ready for whatever was to come.
Beron sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "Not much I can help you with now. I can’t make techniques for you—that’s all on you. But I can tell you a bit about what you’re gonna be running into and share a few insights. But that’s it."
Kronos nodded, digesting the information. "Yeah?"
"Yeah," Beron affirmed.
"How long has it been?" Kronos asked,
"On the outside? Less than a minute. But in here?" Beron chuckled. "Almost a year. Though to be fair, you spent most of that time in meditation."
Kronos smirked, his eyes gleaming. "Good to know."
Beron stood across from Kronos, the air around them charged with a palpable sense of change. His posture was relaxed, but his eyes were intense, reflecting both admiration and caution.
"You’ve achieved something extraordinary," Beron began, his voice a mix of respect and concern. "But remember, what you’re feeling now is a product of this space. The real world won't have this abundance of essence. You'll have to rely on your skills and ingenuity."
Kronos, brimming with newfound power, nodded thoughtfully. "Got it."
"This realm is a haven created for your training," Beron continued, stretching as his armor materialized with a soft metallic clink. "Your art is powerful, but it’s unrefined. You need to develop your techniques quickly. Experiment, push boundaries, and adapt them to the real world's limitations."
Kronos’s expression hardened with determination. "I understand. I’ll work on it."
Beron’s face grew serious, and a trace of nostalgia flickered in his eyes. "You’re in the Purtasi kingdom of Teras, one of the twin continents to Rolone. My team and I were once part of the Adventurers League, a prestigious organization. We were a rank 5 team. Given your current strength, you're likely at a high rank 5 now. The League is formidable. If they find out what happened here, they will come after you. You need to be prepared."
Beron sighed, his tone now tinged with a hint of wry humor. "Well, it looks like my time is up. My power’s running low, and it’s time for me to exit stage left. Just remember, don’t let anyone know I died like this—it's a bit embarrassing."
With a final, cheeky smile, Beron’s form began to dissolve into the ambient light of the dojo. The space around Kronos shifted rapidly, the essence of the realm pulling him swiftly back to the real world.
In a blink, Kronos found himself standing over Beron’s lifeless body in the real world. The transition from the vibrant dojo had been abrupt and jarring. The cave was cloaked in oppressive darkness, the kind of suffocating void that only deepened now that Fael’s spells had faded. He could feel his core again, his body grounding him in reality.
Kronos immediately focused inward. His core was still marginally half-full, but it wasn’t his immediate concern. He zeroed in on his soul space, willing his core and soul to merge. It was then that Mistress’s presence made itself known.
"What are you doing, Chosen? You’ve changed."
"Leave me alone," Kronos growled, his voice laced with defiance.
A violent force slammed into him, shaking his concentration. He opened his core space, which was as he left it—vast, with a massive crystal at its center, fissured and seeping essence. Runes, abilities, Essence Sense, and Essence Command floated in the darkness, surrounded by the lurking shadows of menacing creatures. These monsters were unwelcome, just as Mistress’s determination to control him was. His soul space wasn’t impregnable, but it was resilient—that was why he had formed it in the first place. If he could get his core to the temple within his soul space, he could break her hold.
He pushed, reaching desperately. Mistress’s malevolent force pressed down on him, trying to crush his will.
"You are mine," she declared with chilling finality.
"Well, fuck you," Kronos retorted.
"I AM YOUR MISTRESS!"
"No, you’re not. You’re a fucking bitch with rejection issues. You tried to make me forget my family, my life, my purpose. I will not submit again. Either kill me or step the fuck off!"
Kronos pushed harder, and he could feel Mistress’s grip weakening, though it didn’t break completely. Her fury was palpable, brewing like a storm. "Then you will die," she threatened.
Kronos scrambled to integrate his core with his soul. He could sense it, but it was still out of reach. Desperation fueled his search for another solution. He reached back with his will and sensed Mistress’s presence—a vast, grotesque aura. Though she wasn’t physically in his core space, this was a part of her, an extension of her formidable power.
He decided to use what he had. He invoked his ability to consume, but nothing happened. Mistress’s laughter echoed cruelly through his mind. "I gave you that power. You think you can use it on me? Stupid mortal."
Her laughter turned to dark triumph as she began to cloud his thoughts. Panic surged through him, but then he remembered something crucial.
"Consume… Senseti."
Her name reverberated through the space with his ability. For a moment, she fell silent, and the oppressive darkness began to recede. Then, her screams erupted, a sound of pure agony as her essence was forcibly pulled from his core space. The rush of her essence into his core was painful, but Kronos had no time to dwell on it.
He quickly grabbed his soul and core spaces, forcing them together. Everything stopped—the screams, the influx of power—leaving him in a silence that was almost serene. He stood in the heart of his temple, the space he had designed to house his core. The enormous crystal, though still leaking essence, was now securely anchored in its place.
Mistress’s presence was nearly gone. However, a small mass of black goo remained within his core, writhing like a malignant tumor. It was a remnant of her essence, and it filled him with disgust. He reached out with his mind, asserting his dominance within his soul space, and lifted the grotesque mass from his essence.
With a grim determination, he moved the black goo to the cracks in his core. The mass writhed in his mental grasp, and he forced it against the fissures. The goo’s agonized screams filled the space as it was absorbed into the cracks. Kronos used his essence to solidify the process. Smoky red essence surged from the core, slamming into the creature and fusing it with the core. The largest crack was now filled with the screaming goo, its cries eventually fading into a muffled silence.
Kronos exhaled slowly, a smile creeping across his face. Mistress had said he needed to fix his core, and her own essence had become an unexpected aid. With the cracks filled and her influence diminished, he was finally free. Kronos left the ethereal domain behind. He returned to the stark reality of the cave, the transition from his mindscape to the physical world marked by a sharp contrast. Kronos, now fully in command of his own essence and power, lay back on the cold, hard ground of the cave. The sense of achievement was palpable, but so was the weight of what lay ahead. He had finally succeeded in consolidating his core and soul space, but the cave, with its oppressive darkness and stale air, seemed more like a prison than a place of triumph.
"Now, it's time to get out of this damned cave,"