Defiance of the Fall

The roiling oil of the upper seas created a nauseating green light show on the windswept range below. The lack of sound forced by the region’s current taboo amplified the kaleidoscopic torture, but Ogras preferred it over having any of his other senses sealed. Attackers wouldn’t make a sound before striking in either case, and the unusual light from the noxious seas dispelled most obfuscation skills.

The tearing pain finally abated. Ogras spat as he recalled his illusory lifelines from the surroundings while ripping out the rune dagger from his enemy’s chest. The underlings created with the Dreamgeist’s Bloodline Talent could become his true body in case of a deadly ambush. It looked like there would be no need for that today.

There were no movement or signs of more faceless lunatics in the area, though that didn’t mean much. It wouldn’t be the first time [Worldly Cognizance] failed to expose these intrepid assassins despite being a Supreme-level scouting skill. Ogras thought his horizons had been plenty widened after years of struggle inside the Perennial Vastness. Months of painful and deadly lessons had proven there was always more to learn.

At least the benefits matched the dangers. Ogras had never heard of a realm like this accursed place. How could there be a world under Heaven’s purview where fundamental functions such as Kill Energy were subverted? How could the Ruthless Heavens abide what the Heart Burial Domain provided instead? Stealing the foundations of the slain to temper one’s Heart, Soul, and Body came awfully close to the heretical methods of the Kan’Tanu and similar cults.

Ogras still wasn’t sure whether he should thank or curse the mysterious assassin who abandoned him here. Well, not so mysterious, it turned out. It didn’t take much digging to learn his new teacher was called Ponel Pustori. The name was known by every single assassin he’d fought since entering the Heart Burial Domain. Some had even visited his homeworld as part of a pilgrimage, leaving a red handprint on the walls of his courtyard.

An assassin having his identity exposed normally meant death, but Ponel was an exception to the rule. Ogras couldn’t blame the relatives of Ponel’s innumerable victims. Who’d be foolish enough to seek revenge from one of four known assassins who’d successfully dragged down a Supremacy from their throne? Might as well skip the middleman and jump into the netherworld yourself.

Famous or not, Ponel’s guidance left much to be desired—no explanation or preparation before dumping him in this barghest pit. Ogras shuddered at the memories of his first days after arriving. Before he understood the rules of survival, the shifting taboos adding uncertainty and danger, or how to benefit from the realm’s sinister blessings.

Ogras was initially reluctant, but he didn’t have much choice but to partake. His core was just formed, and there were thousands of established Hegemons skulking about in this demented world. It was another tally on his mottled Karma, but so what? He was already so deep in debt that some new additions wouldn’t make much of a difference.

‘Took you long enough. But that means this is a good’un,’ K’Rav gleefully hummed, gazing at the fallen assassin like he were a delectable meal.

Ogras grunted in acknowledgment as he spread corpse-eroding dust over the body while the goblin extracted his soul before it could dissipate. Ponel was a right bastard. Ogras thought he’d at least get to enjoy some peace and quiet after enduring K’Rav’s incessant chattering for years, only to find out the [Shadewar Flag]‘sseal was limited to the trapped spirits. The annoying goblin could still come and go as he pleased.

Then again, it would have been impossible to decipher the ancient scribbles hidden throughout the Heart Burial Domain without K’Rav’s help, giving him a much-needed up on the competition. Enduring some sarcastic remarks was a small price to pay for life and power.

Cascading waves of resentment pushed against his sanity as another soul was added to the rising tide inside the flag. A bout of darkness gripped him, different from the agony of heretical refinement or the lost windows of time where his alter egos took over.

This was a darkness that had to be fought with tooth and nail, as succumbing meant joining the ranks of his Shadewar Army. The torment relented, and Ogras took a shuddering breath as he reoriented himself. Two seconds lost. Not bad, not great. Ogras sank into the shadows, picking a route at random. If he didn’t know where he was going, then neither would any daggers hiding in the dark.

Ogras wanted nothing more than rest after months of looking over his shoulder, of playing a deadly game of cat and mouse with the other participants. Unfortunately, he was fighting against the clock in more ways than one. Ponel had given him a year in the Heart Burial Domain. Half that time had passed, and there was still much to do.

And Ogras had a sinking feeling that seemed more likely by the day. If he didn’t finish the transformation in here, the chained spirits would drag him under. Almost all the souls inside the [Shadewar Flag] were replaced by Faceless Assassins by this point, and their numbers had grown a few times over. Ponel hadn’t been lying when he said this was the perfect place to raise an army.

Ogras had been fearful his unorthodox cultivation methods would make him stick out like a sore thumb and attract the overseers of the training ground. Laughable. At least two-thirds of these insane bastards practiced various forms of heretical cultivation. The rest were no better. The amount of fell Karma they carried was strong enough to blot out the sky, making his dabbling in unorthodoxy appear as nothing but an innocent dalliance.

Did Ponel know the plan for the [Shadewar Flag] was doomed to fail when he threw out his hint? No, how could he? He must have thought that such foul auras would be a good match to such a foul weapon. Ponel shouldn’t have realized unorthodox souls were necessary to turn the flag into an orthodox weapon that wouldn’t accumulate a karmic debt every time it was used.

Even Ogras didn’t at first. Not until they deciphered the first set of scribbles. Ogras’s original plan was to turn accumulated sin into an illusion, replacing darkness with light when real became fantasy. However, even if the crazy plan cooked up under Ultom’s guidance had the legs to stand, it was only a piece of the puzzle. The best lies held a seed of truth, and the strongest illusions were based on something real. Thɪs chapter is updatᴇd by NovᴇlFirᴇ(.)nᴇt

The [Shadewar Flag] broke the Laws when it trapped the souls that should have been returned to the cosmos. Balance was broken, and the crime would only get worse the stronger the flag grew, and the more it affected the river of fate. Ogras needed to generate merit if he wanted to subvert the sin of the flag’s operation. The scattered mentioned a cruel road of spiritual cannibalism.

If practicing a heretical method went against the natural order, then slaughtering all other practitioners would help restore balance. Sin as much as you wanted, so long as you enforced the same law as you broke. This was what the [Shadewar Flag] lacked, what prevented him from transforming its innate nature.

Going forward, it would become a purgatory punishing those who went against the Heavens. It would generate merit by stopping heretics from breaking the Laws any further. The fouler the Karma of those he captured, the higher the chance of success.

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He only had to survive until then. He hadn’t come close to the levels of trapped sin required for his plan to work, and K’Rav was years from brainwashing the stubborn assassins. Yet every sinner he added to his prison added to his spiritual burden. Giving up wasn’t an option, either. K’Rav was right. His fate was indelibly stanied now that he’d set down his path. He’d have to see it through to the end, or the resentment would drag him under.

The key to success, or at least survival, could be found in the Heart Burial Domain. The fourth of seven rune daggers should be nearby, the next fragment of the [Red Hand Avinasa]. One of the seven strongest methods strewn across the training realm and the inheritance left by his introducer. The simplified version he practiced when wielding the rune daggers was already overturning his understanding of what was possible, and allowed him to advance far quicker than the other trialtakers.

Ponel probably hadn’t been exaggerating when saying his foundations were much too weak to endure his methods. The tempering method was the key to surviving his true heritage while giving him the strength and resilience needed to drag the [Shadewar Flag] into the light. He’d truly become the Shadewar Sovereign, a ruler of the underworld who guarded the order through steel and blood.

A natural predator to those heart-cursed bastards.

———-

‘It’s time.’

Perala’s eyes slowly opened, the storm in her heart mirrored by the blight ravaging her Inner World. She briefly considered using her injuries as an excuse to avoid facing reality but soon rejected the notion. The river of fate would keep flowing, uncaring of her thoughts on the matter. How could she not be there for her disciple at this time?

A flash of anger ignited in Perala’s heart as she ripped open a passage. Why did that young man insist on creating problems? Why did he have to steal what little time they had left? If not for him, wouldn’t her old friends still be alive today?

Perala adjusted her mental state before it affected her Inner World. It was easy to blame Zachary Atwood for thoughtlessly throwing oil on the raging flames of war. However, there was nothing that said they would be any better off if the fate of the Centurion Lighthouse went another direction. Still, it was hard to completely erase the seed of resentment as she stepped into the small courtyard.

They were still inside the War Fortress, but arrays and foliage had given the illusion of a countryside manor far removed from the woes of the frontlines. The truth couldn’t be hidden from Perala’s senses. The empty cultivation chambers, the nuns anointing the few fallen who left a body to put to rest. The suppressed atmosphere of an army whose belief in victory had been suppressed by superior force.

“Y-Your Eminence,” Vai stuttered as she shot to her feet.

“Master! You shouldn’t be running around with your wounds!” Leyara fussed as she rushed over to her side, her eyes wide with worry. “What’s wrong? Is he back?”

“No, he’s gone,” Perala said with a gentle smile, hiding the pain in her heart.

So many had died in that sudden burst of violence. Perala could still see Kantaja’s blazing eyes as she stood by the unmoving body of her husband, the hatred burning in her heart as she struggled with the harsh reality of her insufficiency. How many in Zecia could withstand the Chapter Heads of the Kan’Tanu? Ten, maybe.

A newly ascended Monarch was nothing before them, and four Chapter Heads had been deployed to break the Alliance’s offensive and Zecia’s will. And they were just the appetizer used to draw out the real targets.

“The Lord of the Kan’Tanu should be unable to emerge again for the time being. Our final attack destabilized his Inner World enough to force him back into seclusion. He can’t leave a single blemish on his foundations with that monstrous curse he’s nurturing.”

In truth, their sacrifice had only bought them a year or two, and it cost them four of the most powerful Dao Reserves hidden in their sector. There would be no Eimon Dravorak, Tasil Allbright, or Aposto Heliophos to push him back. With the other sacrifices, Zecia lost over 30 powerful Monarchs to kill one Chapter Head and buy some time. She was supposed to be detached from this mundane struggle, but Perala’s heart bled at seeing the flickering hope of her home die out.

And now, destiny had come for her disciple.

“It’s something else. Come with me.”

Another gate opened, and Perala led Leyara into the chamber hidden in the War Fortress’s depths. A solemn air swallowed all sound as they stepped onto ancient stone. Leyara opened her mouth, yet no words came out until Perala covered her disciple in a protective barrier.

“This place…” Leyara muttered as she looked around.

Soon enough, her gaze stopped at the illusory flame silently burning atop a small podium. Unfathomable barriers protected its essence, yet it was impossible to fully isolate the tremendous truth hidden within. In that flickering flame, the past, present, and future converged, forming a bridge to the beyond.

“Is this a seal? No, it shouldn’t be,” Leyara said with a frown, looking at Perala with unanswered questions. “Unless it’s a Flamebearer seal? Why would such a thing be here?”

“Because we are the Vigil,” a third voice answered, and Leyara jumped in shock upon noticing a woman standing by her side.

“Who are you!”

“The Vigil’s core tenet is non-interference,” the woman continued like she hadn’t heard Leyara’s question. “However, occasionally, we have to light a candle in the darkness to illuminate the path. Simply watching when fate’s led astray could undo untold sacrifice.”

“Silsea Tromok, Emissary of the Eternal Watch,” Perala said with a neutral expression.

“Eternal Watch? The headquarters?” Leyara said before her face rapidly shifted, and she turned to the ancient altar. “Then this is…”

“A Flame of Destiny. The destiny,” Silsea confirmed, finally turning to Leyara. “We all have a destiny we must carry, and I admit our burdens aren’t made equal. I understand you have misgivings regarding the matters of the Vigil. That you feel your life’s path has been subverted by distant matters with no connection to you. Yet we can wait no longer, or we’ll be consumed by fate’s rising tide.”

“That’s…” Leyara hesitated, unable to meet the intense gaze of the nun.

“I’ve met the man who left a mark in your heart,” Silsea commented. “He’s a storm, rudderless and unpredictable. Dangerous. He’s already hastened the pillar’s ascent by half a year, causing tremendous ripples on fate’s tapestry. Steering us into an unknown sea. Many will rail at having their trajectories and plans undone. This is your chance. You can calm the storm and lead him back to the light.”

“You want to control him through me? Forget it,” Leyara glared. “I’ve already gone against my beliefs over and over to live up to your rules despite being kept in the dark. That’s nothing compared to Master’s grace over the years. But I won’t betray Zac. He’s not just a friend or a participant of some event. He carries the fate of Zecia! You might not care what happens if the Kan’Tanu wins, but I do!”

“This is not about control. It’s about balance,” Silsea said. “The Vigil does not wish to dictate which Flamebearer enters the court or what choice they make. Your friend is no different in that regard. However, with destiny in flux, he might uncouple the river altogether. The pillar would return to the depths, delivering an irrecoverable blow to the Heavens.

“Where would that leave him? He’d become an eternal sinner, an enemy of the cosmos. Thrones or Seals, destruction, rebirth. It won’t matter if the gates remain closed. Destiny’s river must be allowed to keep flowing.”

Perala’s heart trembled as she saw the confusion in her disciple’s eyes. She’d tried to explain, to prepare her, since the first signs appeared. However, Perala only knew a corner of the truth. She was only an outer disciple stationed in a desolate corner of the frontier. Leyara’s connection with the Vigil was even more tenuous. Asking her to take on such a mission was asking too much.

“You don’t—”

“If I absorb this, I’ll become a Flamebearer as well? Will I be able to enter the Left Imperial Palace?” Leyara interjected, her eyes somber. “Master said my identity is unique. That it would award me certain influence?”

“You will gain entry, but not as a Flamebearer,” Silsea confirmed. “You’ll become the Vigil’s Flameguard, protecting the flame of hope from the winds and rain.”

“Will… I… remain?”

Silsea silently looked at the flames for a few seconds before lightly shaking her head. “I don’t know. You will be annealed in the purpose of our undertaking, reborn to withstand the weight of destiny. Part of you might remain, but you could fade under its light. It depends on the strength of your conviction.”

Leyara silently looked at the flickering flames for over a minute before a radiant smile appeared on her face. She turned to Perala, who found it harder to meet her eyes than face the assault of the Chapter Headers.

“No matter what, I’m confident I’ll always remember you.”