Chapter 66: No Regret

Ashe flooded into the contact point.

Makun made sure to pour a lot of his Ashe, channeling the Ashe that had come from the Deep into Zack’s wrist.

It was not Ashe shaped by will and comprehension of a practitioner into a specific effect. No, this was raw, chaotic Ashe. Ashe that was saturated with the residue of the Deep, carrying informational patterns of madness, hunger, and destruction. This Ashe poured into Zack’s arm through the physical contact like poison seeping into an open wound.

Every atom in Zack’s forearm was already vibrating at a specific frequency. His Ashe carried a single, disciplined command: harden.

But Makun’s Ashe did not carry such clarity, it had specific command.

It was a thousand contradictory commands screaming at once. It was chaos encoded into spiritual energy.

Every particle of Ashe flooding through the contact point vibrated at multiple conflicting frequencies simultaneously.

Some atoms screamed burn, while others screamed shatter, and still others screamed corrode. There was no single intent and no unified will. It was just raw, unfiltered entropy trying to impose itself on reality all at once.

When Makun’s Ashe made contact with Zack’s, the two informational patterns collided. Zack’s atoms, ordered to be dense and immovable, were suddenly being told to destroy, corrode, burn. The conflicting information created a cascade failure. His Ashe did not know which frequency to obey.

They tried to obey both, and in trying to obey both, they obeyed neither. This led to a result Zack had never seen coming.

AAAAHHHHHH.

Zack screamed.

The hardening technique he had been so confident in after spending most of his life comprehending it faltered. The metallic sheen that had coated his skin like the armor of a great knight flickered.

Cracks spread across his forearm, not physical cracks but spiritual ones.

The two energies rejected each other at the atomic level, and where they met, reality itself destabilized.

The backlash tore through Zack’s Route Core like a blade.

The Route Core processed Ashe, filtering external energy and synchronizing will with reality. But Zack’s Route Core was trying to process information that made no sense. Chaos with no goal except destruction. It could not filter it. It could not reject it.

Normally, Makun had no business forcing his Ashe into that of a practitioner of a higher tier like Zack. Be it the quantity or the quality, Zack’s Ashe was superior.

He should have rejected it or filtered it.

However, Zack had already lost a lot and was at a stage where his Ashe was comparable to that of a first-grade Apprentice, while Makun’s was overflowing with Ashe that poured directly from the Deep.

DAMMIT. I have to get out of this situation.

Zack knew that if he allowed this to continue, he was going to lose his Route Core.

He knew that if this carried on, he was not going to be able to process Ashe or circulate it.

Grrr.

He gritted his teeth after coming to a difficult decision.

Snap.

With his free hand, Zack tore through his hand held by Makun.

He ripped it, stumbling back while brutally gasping for air.

He looked at the remaining arm held by Makun, bruised, swollen, threatening to burst from the excess Ashe. The skin of it had turned into a sickly gray-purple.

He knew that he had made the right decision.

He knew that if he had stayed there, trying to regain control of his arm normally, he would have lost more than he did now.

He stared at Makun, his chest heaving up and down, one eye gone, his stomach torn, and now a ruined arm.

His Route Core had become weak, extremely weak.

He, who had already been in a weak state, was in a worse state.

He resembled demons that were present in children’s stories.

Zack stood there, confused, scared, enraged.

How had this come to be? Before meeting this guy, everything had been good.

However, now, he had lost everything.

It was true he could search for healers, but finding a Tier 4 healer right now who could take care of his eye and his arm was hard. Finding a Tier 5 healer who could take care of his Route Core was almost impossible.

He was done. He knew it.

And for the first time in years, Zack York understood what it meant to lose control.

While Zack was losing it, Makun stood motionless, still holding the severed arm.

He looked at it, a smile creeping on his face. He liked this. He liked the feeling of power he had now. He liked the satisfaction of destruction he had felt when sending Ashe into Zack.

He wanted more.

More! MORE! MORE!

The words echoed in his head as his burning eyes locked in on Zack again.

Makun sprinted towards Zack, who by now was so weak he could not even circulate Ashe properly. He extended his hand, aiming for Zack’s chest, where the heart was, where the Route Core was located.

Puch!

Zack’s mouth opened wide, blood spilling as he felt his skin being pierced. His body jerked, convulsing as the hand drove deeper, tearing through flesh that should have been hardened, and protected like an impenetrable fortress.

It should have been impossible for Makun as an Initiate, to pierce it normally. Because he would have hardened it. However, he could feel it going through his skin and gripping inside.

Zack’s legs buckled. His remaining arm fell limp at his side. A wet, choking gasp escaped his throat.

Badum! Badum! Budam! Budam!

Zack felt his heart and Route Core being gripped by Makun. He could feel it beat slowly and asynchronously in his hand, each pulse weaker than the last, each thump more distant.

Every erratic emotion he had felt earlier disappeared.

He knew this was the end. There was nothing he could do in his current state and he knew trying was futile.

His remaining eye, glassy and unfocused, drifted upward to meet Makun’s burning gaze. His lips trembled, not a word could come out of it.

He looked at Makun, a face full of sadness.

He did not regret doing this. He did not regret going after the book if it meant he could help her.

The only regret he had was leaving Lucie behind. Alone.

He could not tell what would happen to her now, and he had failed the promise he made.

A single tear slid down his bloodstained cheek.

He did not want to beg for his life, as this was his choice. You never knew what would happen as a mystic. You could only hope that the choices you made were worth the cost.

His body shuddered one last time. His head tilted forward, resting against Makun’s arm.

And then, nothing.

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