“We need to wear you down,” Enrique explained, on the dawn of the third day, “the ability will come much more naturally when you’re already exhilarated.”
Remus tried to keep that in mind, flying as high above the island as he could, a phantom blur coming for his hide. Down below, West Ember was the size of a button in a sheet of blue. The winds were chilly this far up, and he only avoided ascending any higher to circumvent the obscuring clouds. The divine power of Tanish’s Mark eliminated the pain of his damaged rib, which had surprisingly healed at an unprecedented rate.
Unfortunately for him, flying, numbing his pain, and drowning himself with enough potent Ambition to risk the staggering heights was demanding as all hell. If Remus ran out of stamina up here . . . his death as a golden blotch dying the waters below was assured.
And Enrique just wouldn’t get off his back.
They drifted through the sky in intricate patterns, the founder always just one step ahead. Bullets of flame so hot they turned white tried to tear through Remus’ flesh, but they achieved little more than skimming past him. Conjuring a mini supernova of flame between his palms, Remus directed all his focus on maintaining the blinding orb.
Enrique was shirtless as he soared, leaving his Tapestry plainly in view. Like Hadrian’s, the godly construct was the tell-tale sign of a past Mercenary-Ranked. Cleaving through the skies as he was, Remus could hardly sit still and examine the heroic feats of Tanish it undoubtedly displayed, vision enhanced from Engorged or not.
Of course, despite how much of an unstoppable force Enrique felt like in the heat of battle, if Remus were to fight him at full strength, it wouldn’t even be close. This ghostly form may have been tough as steel, but a full-powered Warlord or higher-
Remus shivered, almost losing his hold on the charging might.
This compressed mass of pure power brewing between his hands was his only hope of dealing any real danger. Remus was still yet to get a good hold on how to utilise Flaming Gold properly, so for now, until Enrique instructed him to do so, its use was off limits. The other two techniques may have been viable, if he knew anymore about them, but the founder had inhibited Remus from even thinking of their usage until he had mastered the first.
In short, at this rate, Remus might never get the chance to discover the contents of those two monoliths.
Flying aimlessly in sporadic patterns, Remus avoided horrific punches from Enrique by a miraculous string of flukes.
It was hard to describe the sensation between his fingertips. Burning would evoke images of pain, but he felt none in the slightest. At least, unlike past attempts at supercharging one pinpointed blast of power, he knew roughly where the threshold between warmth and pain was. He walked along it carefully, hoping he didn’t have the equivalent of a faulty bomb on his hands.
“Interesting,” Enrique spoke to himself, placing a hand on Remus’ shoulder, “you’re thinking along the right lines with tha-”
Expending bucket-loads of Ambition, Remus centralised the blazing mass he had generated into one appendage-shaped model, over the missing ring finger. Concentrating a larger initial bundle proved worlds faster than the slow, careful method he had utilised so long ago now.
His every muscle roaring at the split second of blinding speed, Remus flipped midair. Where his finger had swiped a blazing path, a bleeding tear formed down Enrique’s chest.
The returning strike came instantly.
Crushing Remus’ shoulder, muscle and bone were flattened. Remus found himself descending. Descending and descending until the very air in his lungs was whisked away from him. Gagging, West Ember unfolding from a pin in his vision to an entire land mass, Remus flailed. Relying on one arm down, a gust of fire propelled him up steadily higher, and breath came easy at last.
Mobility taxed, Remus didn’t have the freedom to dodge Enrique’s oncoming shape. A burning grip incinerated the sleeve of Remus’ shirt, and, like a yoyo, Remus found himself spinning downwards once again.
One, two, three rapid hits from the founder. Remus revitalised his Mark in a surge of panic, was tossed upwards in his own urgent blaze, and came swooping into the shore’s waters. If not for three key factors, Remus would have been at gravity’s cruel mercy. Endurance blessed by Tanish, the softening catch of the water, and that last outpour ensured his descent did little more than disconcert him.
Remus never thought about spreading his Mark usage thin when facing Enrique. He found himself burning out less and less these days, and besides, without the boost, the founder would have him choking on sand within seconds. The man was quick to follow, and it was all Remus could do to wrestle as the battle was drawn once more onto the island.
Sometimes I wonder if you intend to kill me with this training. Remus recalled often saying, eyes stinging from his own sweat. The founder would laugh, before forcing an exhausted Remus into yet another bout. I would be doing you a disservice if you didn’t feel that way.
Like the beacon of a lighthouse tripping on, Enrique was devoured by blue flames. A one-worded screech of, “now!”, and the colour lightened to a vaporising white.
Remus obeyed his mentor. All at once, his every muscle bracing in anticipation, golden veins turned blue.
Before the pain could even hit, Remus held his breath, dashing out of the way. Sand was unearthed, flickering in his direction like the waves of an ocean turned physical. He jolted to his right, took a brief flight up and to his left, and one more directionless leap. All sporadic minions, but it was all he could do to avoid being crushed. Stripes the colour of ivory floated in his vision — a relentless Enrique impossible to gaze upon.
And all the while, agony made Remus want to crawl up into a ball. Not an inch of his body was spared, perspiration leaking out of every pore so fast, Remus felt like he was being wrung dry. Tanish’s endless adrenaline could do so much, and Remus was forced to focus on a tool in his arsenal he’d left unused for far too long.
Unshakeable willpower.
He liked to think his mental fortitude, his discipline, and mental strength were all sublime without any divine boost. But as he flooded a decent percentage of his might towards his mind, the pain that was once so unbearable was laughable in comparison. It was like drinking excessively, reaching the high that came before crashing down into a stupor, but he could dictate exactly what was affected without any of the impending, would-be drawbacks.
Dangerous confidence, teetering to the point of arrogance, allowed Remus to keep fighting. And yet, as he and Enrique danced around one another, neither risking the first strike, the tiny logical portions of his psyche warned him. He had minutes until this self-inflicted torture would become insufferable once more.
So, in the only viable move to impress his mentor, Remus dived forwards. He feigned, made it look as if he was going for the legs, but actually set his sight on the man's neck. A chop of the hand would slam the air out of Enrique’s throat. But Enrquie wasn’t new to the intricacies of battle. Decades of veteran experience gave him the breathing room needed to both read the trick, and intercept it with his own.
He disappeared. Remus looked round, saw nothing, and fought the urge to scream in frustration. If he could just slowly lead the fight into a certain direction . . .
Infinity must be propelling him even faster. What Mould does he have? Something speed bas-?
A hurtled tree, roots and all, snapped the cartilage of his nose.
There was only so much that sheer willpower could drown out. Thorns dug into Remus’ skin, other branches snapped into his face, and, likely, a whole array of other obstacles punished him. Remus stopped paying attention.
He landed in a ditch within the earth, perfectly shaped to his body. Enrique’s hand appeared a second later, with the founder doing his best to disguise a thin smile. “I saw you trying to lead me to the ocean. Clever, but should I let you in on a little secret?”
Enrique learned in conspiratorially. “You can alter the flame of your Ambition in such a way that it’s unaffected by water. You’re treating your attacks like literal fire — it isn’t. The only reason it's sharing the same traits is because you're subconsciously basing it off the real thing. Don’t. It isn’t.”
Remus would have slapped himself if his arm wasn’t tight with pain. Expectations shaping the properties of his Ambition made sense — that would explain why his own flames didn’t burn his hair off, or as to why standard clothes sometimes didn’t erupt in flames. Contrary to what Flame Sect trainees were forced to suffer through. Subconsciously, he hadn't wanted to go hairless, or to buy a new shirt every time trouble stirred. “That would have come in useful. Approximately the hour before I came here.”
“Oh well.” Remus could do nothing as Enrique picked him up, hand on his chin. “Now seems about right. No time like the present.”
He tossed Remus metres away. His lower body roared in pain, and he gagged, every movement like a blade piercing into his skin. Once he landed, it was all he could do to obey Enrique’s next command.
“Sit straight and completely still! I’m coming to strike you at full strength. Flood as much Ambition as possible into your skin, if you don’t want your chest to collapse inwards.”
Suffice to say, Remus didn’t need any more convincing. Fear kept his body petrified, and demanding more Ambition from his steaming Mark than ever, the blind desire to survive pushed Remus to unfounded heights.
It was an odd sensation, empowering such a fickle layer of tissue. Really, how resistant could a millimetre barrier really be? Remus' mind went into overdrive, a hundred, and then a thousand more horrific images of his inexorable demise occurring to him. Each more brutal than the last.
He kept his eyes shut tightly. All respects to Enrique, but a millennia of slumber had left the man ignorant. Remus had escaped death a score of times from their hand, and the spirit hadn't even seemed to notice. Some people on this earth may have been invincible warriors, but Remus was weaker than eighty percent of Descent. No matter how handicapped the God-Graced was, a true hit would cleave Remus in two.
Skin. Endless energy sinking into his skin now felt meaningless. Like he was watering a plant in the rain. But it was all he could do.
A brush of wind indicated something — a certain someone — approaching. One second dragged into a mental battle that felt like an hour. Like a guillotine descending over his head, a fist collided into Remus’ chin.
As his face was forced back in a mess of spittle, Remus prepared to die. For his brain to explode. But it didn’t.
This one fact; this one miracle of existence caught him so off-guard, that Remus was left marvelling as an array of barraging attacks rained down on him. He felt their impact of course, but his body was only pushed back a few inches. And the pain. Aside from the eruption still persisting from earlier, he felt next to none.
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What is this? No answers occurred to Remus, but he was just thankful to be alive.
A laugh from Enrique, full of prideful mirth, struck his ears. “Good, good! That’s perfect!”
He continued to beat down upon Remus as he spoke. “Thick Skin is near impossible to use whilst moving without Passings, maybe Rebirths of training. But if you catch an instance where you can stand completely still—”a sound like clanged steel reverberated where the man struck—”you can catch your enemy off-guard with protection as tough as metal. You might even break a few knuckles in the process too.”
The cost of using Blazing Gold faded away, leaving Remus with nothing but the strange feeling of Enrique’s painless blows. If he could absorb attacks from someone as powerful as this man without harm . . . the possibilities that opened up made Remus smile like a maniac. But the disadvantages limited its use severely. When in a battle did you have the chance to remain completely immobile? It was certainly something to consider, but the potential was there.
“Oh, and by the way,” Enrique began nonchalantly, “I was lying earlier. If I were to go all out on you, you’d be dead. No offence, but it's the truth. Thick Skin can work somewhat against foes a few Divine Ranks higher than yourself, but don’t go sticking your nose in the business of Godlings any time soon.”
Remus scoffed. “Too late for that one.”
The sound of something tiny spinning overlaying his words, Enrique chuckled. “Not a people pleaser, are you? But, just to preface . . . this is something closer to my actual wrath.”
Snapping his eyes open to face a fist implanted into his stomach, Remus heard something along the lines of a bomb powering to go off. Time stretched out, and his mouth widening in slow motion, a wick of white so concentrated it was a perfect sphere slowly expanded.
This all occurred in one-split second. Knowing full well he was about to face an explosion at point-blank range, Remus demanded his exhausted Mark to do the impossible. Calling on so much Ambition it was ridiculous, Remus’ Ichor and outer body set ablaze with energy he shouldn’t have.
He sprang upwards with enough speed to shatter an Engorged’s legs, expending flames to accelerate his get-away. In a noise that made his ears pang, Remus shut his eyes tightly.
A sensation like he was once more being whisked away by Maris consumed him. Enrique’s frantic cries became a faint din, and, as if by somebody else’s accord, his body slumped.
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What felt like ten pillows knotted together held Remus’ weight, but his senses were muffled. The vague sort of awareness of a second-grade reality, the best job a copy can accomplish, encompassed everything. From the touch of the floating marshmallow below, the almost unidentifiable chillness an endless wind seemed to carry, to so far as the weight of his own body.
Even before Remus snapped open his eyes, it was plainly apparent. He was dreaming.
Skies surrounded him, only blue revealing a deeper blue meeting his eyes in any direction he glanced. Remus was mid-air, not exactly sitting on the enveloping clouds, but instead held in place by some invisible force. Or perhaps that was simply the logic of this lucid expanse. Memories clicked into place faster than he could fathom: this place, and the one time previously he’d visited it, in a trance exactly like now. The realisation merited such joy, he fought the temptation to weep.
Remus swivelled around, and, before even locking eyes with the god he knew to be there, scrutinised his Mark. With a thought, his shirt disappeared, and his Mark, acquiring a faint blazing sensation, stretched down from his shoulder, across his back, and reached his tricep.
Ashbel’s stand against Tanish was more detailed than ever. The colours were now deepset, acquiring a newfound definition — bright and varied beyond belief. Tanish’s musculature bulged as he sported that signature look of superiority, and the endless coals behind Ashbel’s front of insidious fire were just about visible. The two gods were the polar opposite in practically every factor, but the means through which they channelled their boundless strength . . . with his time spent at the Flame Sect, Remus knew that similarity better than anyone. And then, in the freshest addition to have manifested mere seconds ago, a coating of faint flame created a texture of swooshing waves.
There was only one word to describe the affliction: Emblazed. With his Mark finally completed, Remus had ascended a Divine Rank.
His head shot upwards in a moment turned sickly with mirth. He remembered being a Death-Marked, the black sheep of his clan. He recalled the roiling hatred driving him on when nothing else would. It may have been the exhilaration of being thrown out of battle, the relief of a temporary haven, but for a thousand tiny reasons, Remus couldn’t fight back his own amounting waterfall. Each recollection merited a tear of its own, and Remus clenched both fists. The stream refused to settle, visions of his life spinning in his head. Days occupied with nothing but chaos and training. It hadn’t been a waste. He latched onto that thought like the warm embrace it was.
When he mustered the courage to look up, the moisture lining his face not doing much to present him as a menacing figure, a lopsided smile elicited a matching grin of his own. Looking further up, past the coldness of a dozen scars, a counteracting warmth could be found in Tanish’s eyes.
“You don’t waste your time, do you?” The god of Ambition said wryly. “What, it's only been two Passings or so since our last meeting, and here I have another budding Emblazed on my hands!” Tanish smacked his chest, letting out a boisterous laugh drowning in boyish pride. “Typically takes years.”
“I suppose it does,” Remus cleared his throat, wiping his eyes dry. “Though I don’t think most people quite have the urgency to strain their Mark as often as I do.”
A little over two Passings of constantly keeping his Mark activated seemed to have done the trick. To think that Remus was now as powerful as the rest of his clan, disregarding one notable figure out of that equation. Something told him he should have been awe-struck, but it didn’t feel real. Was yet to sink in.
“There’s no need to be humble, my dear Emblazed.” Remus’ mirth only grew each time the title was used. “Between dealing with the War front on the godly side of things, I’ve been keeping an eye on your progress. Fascinating indeed.”
His petted ego put aside, that first part caused Remus to double-take. The only portion of the Celestial War the gods had the liberty of partaking in was with the Unbounded. Reportedly, they’d tried to wipe out the fiends before, but doing so would mean obliterating billions of their own humans in the process. Besides, the few Unbounded that rivalled the might of the gods probably kept them far too preoccupied to attempt anything so extreme. It was a perpetual stalemate, but if either force were to gain the upper-hand, the total destruction of their weaker servants was risked.
Nevertheless, the thought of those false knights of virtue rivalling the might of deities themselves sent a shimmer through Remus that lingered. He could hardly imagine a battle on such an impossible scale.
Putting such thoughts aside, Remus suited a brave front. “You don’t bother to dawdle either,” he began to joke, “Aziel informed me of just how quickly you deliver Visions. It seems he’s a man of his word.”
For a second, Remus wondered if Tanish would even recognise the name. Surely keeping track of an entire sect must be difficult — especially if you had a divine war to wage. But surprisingly, this wasn’t the case. “Almost as hungry as you are for success, that one.” That rictus of a smile refused to fade. “But how can I not be impatient for a brewing generation of talent, including you too?”
“I will admit Remus,” his tone grew momentarily sombre, “for a few decades, the fate of my people was left in the balance. New recruits were lacking, the Unbounded were gathering power, and even now, I find my clan facing impossible adversity. But it's gems in the rough like you that put my concerns at ease. I’m certain, once you help us get over this stumble, that our rise to power will be so sudden, the world won’t know what hit them.”
Remus wished he had as much confidence in himself as his patron god did, but his anxieties were near damn endless. Yet, even he was susceptible to so much blatant buttering-up. “Thank you for the encouragement. I’ll spend my every waking moment ensuring the clan’s future.”
Tanish ruffled a hand through Remus' hair like he was his father. In a weird, technical sort of way that hurt Remus’ brain, he was. Or at least a great-times-a-thousand grandfather. The gods had created humanity, after all.
“I won’t keep you waiting any longer,” Tanish clasped two hands excitedly together, “this is a redundant question, for I already know the answer, but I must ask it. Do you wish to continue along your path up the Divine Ranks, knowing full well of the obligations that will be expected of you?”
The question, largely, was pointless. Not just for the fact it was made to appease a few grumpy denizens who didn’t like the idea of warfare, but for Remus in particular.
Despite all of the impossible achievements, his miraculous ascent up the Divine Ranks, golden blood and a fancy Mark wasn’t enough for Remus. He hungered for more. And growing complacent wasn’t going to get him anywhere. “Of course.”
Tanish’s insatiable look mimicked Remus’ own inward ambition. Remus had to wonder, being the god of desiring ever more . . . was he ever truly content? It was the nefarious underside of ambition that hardly anyone dared to mention.
The need to improve oneself — to trespass into greater realms — was a double-edged sword. It was a boundless pit of possible achievement, and those accolades did have the potential to merit long-lasting happiness, but what was the underside of that? Always hungry, always rushing off in the meaningless quest of being greater. It wasn't as if Remus thought Ambition was a bad thing. Hardly. Without that internal desire, he would still be a miserable Death-Marked. Stuck in a clan cursed to be snuffed out by a broken economy. But there had to be a line.
Accepting one’s current circumstances with open arms; embracing them. That was the key to real contentment, to inward peace.
Yet Remus shook his head at the notion. Aside from the fact he was getting far too philosophical, contentment, if he was ever so privileged as to reach that point, was a long and winding road. There was still an endless array of things he had to do. It wasn’t a matter of having the freedom to work on himself as he saw fit. There were people — possibly in the hundreds — relying on him.
And Emblazed was nowhere near enough.
Tanish let out a satisfied sigh, lounging with arms behind his head as he hovered casually. “This will be the last we speak, Remus, until perhaps the next Day of Descension.” He glowered, looking away abruptly. “Yet even that event is getting harder and harder to manage. An entire day away from the Unbounded may prove to be too much. I might even be one of the few minor deities forced to remain. Fending the onslaught off.”
Before the consequences of that could really sink in for Remus, the god suddenly called out.
“And — oh!” The deity’s eyes widened. “Though I didn’t have a chance to mention our founder, Enrique is probably scared out of his skin right now. Annddd yep, he thinks he killed you.”
“What?” Remus shouted.
“Oh well,” Tanish chuckled to himself, his image becoming fuzzy, “he’s in for quite the surprise when you awake. The dead walks!”
On that concerning note, their rendezvous was cut short. Like an invisible god had tossed him out of that cloudy heaven, Remus felt himself be dragged away.
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“Oh dear Tanish,” Enrique crumpled to his knees over the sprawled body. “Please forgive me.”
Remus lay in the most uncomfortable position the founder could imagine. Limbs spread out as if broken, eyes rolled back, and foam rapidly spouted from his mouth like a broken basin.
“Come on, come on,” he shook at the boy rapidly, “don’t tell me I just sabotaged my clan’s only hope of survival . . .”
Enrique prayed to every god he knew. Some would have been dead by now, a majority wouldn’t care, and nearly all of them would be too preoccupied to hear his call. Much less answer it. Nevertheless, as Remus’ head thudded against the dirt below, he couldn’t think of anything else to save the boy. Divine might was his only hope.
Manslaughter. He panicked. I’ve committed manslaughter!
“I’m sorry Remus.” Pure dread snuffed out every other emotion. “I didn’t mean to go so far, I didn’t-”
Jolting upwards, Remus headbutted the founder. “Oh, save it. You’ll need more than that little love tap to get rid of me.”
Pure relief, then a coaxing ire made Enrique so overwhelmed, his body didn’t seem to know how to react. His fists clenched, and he swallowed back an unmanly sob. “How long were you awake, you sick bastard? Do you enjoy dragging out the suffering of others?”
“Apologies,” Remus couldn’t help but smile drowsily, “I was unconscious for the most part . . . but not because of you, don’t worry.”
Had he smacked the child a little too hard? He wasn’t making a drab of sense. “Oh come on. You just so happened to take a nap, right as I hit you with an attack with some power behind it?”
His eyelids began to flutter in spaced-out blinks. “Was talking with Tanish. Reached Emblazed, and accepted my . . . “ their eyes remained shut. “ . . . Bank.”
With that, Remus began to snore.
Motionless, Enrique wasn’t sure whether to shriek with excitement or slap the trainee.
The founder sighed, lying down as his own wave of lethargy consumed him. “Youth these days,” he grumbled, falling asleep with an unshakeable grin.