167 (II)

Enough

Shiv was just guessing here, but maybe he was right. After all, these evolutions were happening inside him, and different skills contained different snippets of his personal history.

In the brief calm that followed, Shiv experimented with his Maelstrom some more. As the 60th wave rolled in, the area of effect for his kinetic waves extended up to 100 meters. 100 meters of bone-powdering pressure. Shiv guessed that being in his vicinity probably felt like swimming at the bottom of an ocean. Well. Maybe. He wasn’t sure how much pressure was at the bottom of the ocean. That sounded like something Adam would learn in one of his classes. At the thought of the Gate Lord,

Shiv bit back a snarl. “Hang on, I’ll make it back. Just don’t be fucking dead, don’t be dead godsdammit.”

He tried not to think about the worst possibility, but he’d been gone for a while now, and the Tarrasque was still alive when he left. The Ascendants and their Avatars were there, but considering how callously they acted as they teleported Shiv away, his hopes weren’t high that they would prioritize Adam’s and his other companions’ safety and safeguard Blackedge.

But Shiv still hoped the Ascendants had contained the Tarrasque—that Adam managed to get away and help the other escape right after.

Psycho-Cartography: Push these thoughts out of your mind. Focus on something else. Prepare for your next adversary. We know that the System is drawing on your previous encounters to populate this Delve. Considering your hardest fights, what’s coming next is likely the Jealousy.

Shiv winced. He remembered facing the Greater Demon. It had killed him more than a few times, and now, with both his Mask of False Paths and his Magebreaker broken, he had no way of countering its magic.

So far, his Magical Resistance skill was still at level one, even with it being chosen for the Legendary Skill Evolution. He suspected he may need to lose to or prevail against the Jealousy before another partial skill evolution was applied to him. Its Psychomancy was one thing, but its ability to regenerate, along with its Hydromancy, was another layer of trouble. Shiv couldn’t let it dictate the fight.

He needed to move in close, tear through its body, and discharge his Inertial Overdrive while still inside it. He needed to blow it apart in an instant. That was the easiest way to win. He felt reasonably confident regarding his odds, thanks to all his skills, on top of his Chronomancy.

And it really was Chronomancy that might turn this into a slaughter. He refused to let down his guard, though. And he wasn’t going to make the same mistakes as he did with 811. Shiv intended to drag the Jealousy off and away from the Blackedge. He would kill it past the edge of the town. That way, when he blew it apart, none of the corpse’s debris would slam down on any unfortunate victims, forcing Shiv to restart the Delve.

Initiating Encounter (2/5)

Yet, as the notification blinked into view, the Jealousy itself was nowhere to be seen. The skies were calm, and the streets were placid. Shiv directed his kinetic waves higher, and he exploded skyward, as if a red-gold javelin. Looking down, using his foresight, he scanned all corners of Blackedge, waiting patiently. A creeping thought passed through him, and he realized the Jealousy might have spawned into the scenario in the worst way possible. It was hiding inside someone’s mind.

Yeah, that seemed like something the System might do. “Alright, new plan,” Shiv said to himself. He brought himself lower, dangling his pillar-encased form over various crowds. He knew he was faster than the Jealousy by now. Knew that it wasn’t very good in close quarters. The moment it unleashed its magic on him, he would stop time or go out of context, and then he would try to counter the creature. But as he considered his plan, a problem came up.

Previously, he could knock it out using his Magebreaker. The Inertium was invaluable. Now, if the Jealousy was still hiding in someone’s mind, how was he going to free them? If he projected his own psychomancy inside while time was frozen, he might be able to do some damage, but Shiv doubted it. His Psychomancy was still lacking. It would be like trying to chisel through a steel wall.

The Deathless glowered, but he adapted once more. He wasn’t thinking hard enough. His Psycho-Cartography had shown him the way earlier. Spend more time thinking. There would always be setbacks, but there was a solution somewhere. At least, that’s what he thought. He immediately began pumping out his Creeping Void. The world was encased by a sweeping tide of blackness, and Shiv glided over to the people.

He observed the slaves and common Pathbearers he encountered, studying their vitality for any fluctuations this time. If the Jealousy was inside them, he suspected that there would be a dense knot of red in someone’s skull. He kept an eye open for that, but remained alert in the meantime. He used waves of force to pull himself across the land. His Orichalcum pillar wasn’t nearly as solid as it could be, but he valued speed over Toughness right now.

When the Jealousy struck, he would show it true speed.

So Shiv waited. Shiv stalked the streets and skies through a dense cloud of darkness.

And the Jealousy simply didn’t appear.

Seconds ticked to minutes. Shiv felt his patience begin to fray. He decided to get a little bit more reckless. He stopped using his Creeping Void and exposed himself entirely. No attacks came. By this point, Shiv’s paranoia was in full swing.

Maybe he wasn’t facing the Jealousy, maybe he was facing an unseen foe. Whisper, perhaps, but that didn’t make any sense. He never had a physical confrontation with Whisper. He wouldn’t consider the orc an essential foe at all.

No, everything that happened inside this Delve seemed to be sourced from a formative moment for Shiv. The Jealousy was when he got his Gravitic Wrestler skill. That mattered more for his Physicality than Might of Mass. If this Delve was following his personal development at all, it needed to be the Jealousy.

So then, where is it?

Shiv decided to get to a higher altitude. Something told him it wasn’t hiding the clouds, but maybe he could get a better lay of the land and see if something was unusual. Rolling waves of force flung his pillar upward. The winds screamed around him, and his inertial sheath thundered in delight. Shiv swept his gaze across Blackedge—and immediately noticed something wrong atop the apex of Starhawk’s Perch.

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A faint stretch of soft blue stained the world there. That was the color of Animancy, and as Shiv used his Farsight Skill to study the Animancy mana, his earlier rage returned to him. He saw the Jealousy frozen within that patch of Animancy. Four hundred meters of Greater Demon was coiled in on itself and held in stasis.

Shiv had a pretty good guess as to why.

He remembered Cripple calling out for an Animancy to suppress Shiv. This was probably their doing. They were scheming to keep him trapped in his own Delve, unable to evolve. Red began to spread in from the corners of Shiv’s vision. A near primal rage took hold of him as Berserk almost triggered. The kinetic tides being drawn into Shiv grew ever more turbulent. Faint cracks spread along his pillar, and lacerations opened across his skin.

Not yet, the Deathless thought to himself. He halted time and left context. At once, everything went dark. The Delve vanished, and Shiv found himself trapped in a cold abyss. But the patch of blue was gone too, and when Shiv surfaced, he found the Jealousy swimming through the air—liberated from its entrapment.

***

“I… I don’t know what just happened,” the Animancer said, as he looked up from the cell. The elven Pathbearer was kneeling beside Priority Zenith. His eyes were wide with shock as he regarded the enchained Deathless. Beside him, six other Animancers were still lost within the Deathless’s soul. Most of them looked withered and spent. A few had perished earlier when they accidentally reached into the wrong place and found their lifeforce ripped out of their bodies.

The guards had stripped the Deathless of all equipment, left him bare and bound to dense bands of Orichalcum. The restraints would use the Deathless’s own willpower to fuel the chains. Hence, when he struggled, it would harden accordingly, leaving him unable to break free. Additionally, the walls of the Zenith Anchor were choked with spellwork—most of them inscribed through a joint effort by the Ascendants. There was a ceiling to just how much mana they could channel on Earth, but it was still enough to cage anyone. Even a Legend, in theory.

Yet, as Cripple stared down through the porthole at the Animancer, it felt a sense of wrongness. Though the Deathless was in a technical coma right now, he somehow triggered a skill that made even Cripple forget his existence briefly. Cripple had never faced such a skill before. Not even when doing battle against a rival god. The Deathless was an anomaly, an enigma, and worst of all, a product of Udraal Thann.

But he was also a boy. A boy that had been fighting for Blackedge, supposedly. One that warred on behalf of the citizens.

What they were doing to him was—

It’s for his own good as well,

Cripple told itself. If we did not cage him, someone would slay him for the quest rewards. This is best for him and us.

But Cripple only believed that in part. It knew why Veronica wanted to keep the boy alive. She had something of a history with his father. Harlon Lowe wasn’t a weak Pathbearer, but he had been nowhere near a Legend either. Yet, Veronica had always inquired after him. Cripple suspected there might be familial relations there. Maybe Harlon was an illegitimate child. But unlikely.

Veronica wasn’t the type to indulge in her baser instincts. She was near celibate compared to Katherine, her grandmother—and Cripple’s fellow Ascendant. But there was definitely a connection. Cripple just didn’t know what. And neither did anyone else on the council, for that matter.

So, the Deathless was to be held here at her orders. Held until they resolved the matter of the Tarrasque through containment or displacement into some other nation’s territory. After that was dealt with, she wanted to conduct a personal interview with the boy.

But it just feels like a mistake. Cripple looked down at the boy again. His fists were clenched tight. Though his eyes were closed, his expression was locked in a bestial snarl. Rage practically radiated from his every pore, and again, Cripple didn’t blame him. Cripple remembered its own fury during its days as a slave. It remembered its life in service—forced to serve the Dust King as a common gladiatorial bot. And then suffering the same degradation down in the Abyss by the Lords of Law and their people.

And here I am, scarring my own spirit. But more than shame, there was worry. The boy had a Vitality Drain Skill. Cripple’s Avatar nearly perished during the earlier encounter. The Deathless knew the world-mending technique. And now he’d achieved a Magical Resistance and Physicality Skill Fusion. It was madness. It was too much power too fast. Cripple hadn’t known many with Magical Resistance and Physicality fusions. A few Farwalkers, perhaps, and they kept their Skill Evolutions well hidden.

Thus, Cripple didn’t know what kind of skill the boy was about to evolve. And that made him something closer to an unstable mana bomb than a prisoner in a cage.

I cannot take my eyes off him, Cripple decided. Everything he does, I will watch. I will make sure he never breaks free. Until we decide he is no longer a threat. Or we… offer him a final mercy.

Cripple didn’t care that much about the reward. It was already a god—a divinity of terrible power. Its Avatars were also martyrs. None could bear his might without suffering grievous wounds. What use did they have for Legendary Skills if channeling Cripple was more terminal illness than blessing?

But one of the other Ascendants might wish to empower their Avatar. Halsur. Kathereine. Blind. Maiden. Youthful. All of them would find great benefit in an unmatched Avatar. And then there was Veronica herself. She was virtuous in most regards, but one didn’t become a member of the Council if one did not crave power.

He wouldn’t put it past her to take the boy’s life herself if she couldn’t control him.

It wasn’t anything she hadn’t done before.

It wasn’t anything anyone on the Council or among the Ascendants hadn’t done before.

The truth was that someone with ten Legendary Skills was worth more than twelve armies combined—was worth more than most of the Republic. The moment someone reached that level of power, even gods would find them a difficult cockroach to stomp.

And if said cockroach was a conduit for gods? Then, Integrated Earth might as well belong to the Yellowstone Republic.

“Reach into the skill again,” Cripple commanded. “Do what you can to keep him from evolving.”

“As you command, my Ascendant,” the Head Animancer replied. But though the elf’s voice was high with determination, he couldn’t hide his fear either. Cripple heard just how terrified he was of this endeavor. How weird he found the Deathless.

“If you find something going awry, release your magic and call out to me,” Cripple added. “Do not waste your life.”

“Your wisdom and mercy is grand, Ascendant Cripple,” the Head Animancer replied. He regarded the Deathless once more and held out a shaking hand. Again, the color of a bruise seeped out from the Head Animancer as it mingled with the mana of his companions. His Animancy field shifted through the cell and washed into the Deathless once more.

The Head Animancer let out a breath as he entered a focus trance—

Only to shriek in absolute agony as a bramble of white-red tore out from his insides. He burst apart into bloody pieces, and the other Animancers shared the same fate before Cripple even realized what was happening.

The Ascendant took a single step and manifested within the prison. Distance was no limit for Cripple. Neither were matter or magic. Yet, Cripple’s Avatar paid the price for this great power. Its legs turned to scrap, and it collapsed at the Deathless’s feet. Cripple found itself commanding the Avatar to rise as it lifted its head from a pool of blood.

And as it gazed upon the Deathless’s face, it realized he was no longer snarling, but grinning viciously.

Somehow, he had killed the Animancers. And he did it without Cripple’s comprehension.

The Ascendant’s battle-honed instincts screamed for it to do one of two things. The first was to kill the boy and be done with it. It was pragmatic, but it would cause problems. More importantly, Cripple didn’t want to do it. The moral choice was to release the Deathless, but that came with its own host of risks as well.

And Cripple still belonged to Kathereine by right of oath and soul-contract. She didn’t use Cripple as a weapon or a slave, usually. Not when she had Halsur willing to do all her bloody work for her, but she would debase Cripple if it offended her. It knew because she had.

Of all the Ascendants, she was the only one Cripple the Strongest truly feared.

Even so, Cripple let out a reverberating sigh and looked upon Shiv. “Something tells me keeping you here will become a mistake either way. Maybe the mistake has already been made. Maybe capturing you was the mistake.”

The Deathless didn’t reply. The Animancers were dead. Above, sirens began to wail, the prison’s dimensional monitors and other elite wardens noticing the massacre within Anchor-Cell Zenith far too late.

“What are you?” Cripple asked the Deathless. The boy was silent. His eyes were moving beneath closed lids. “Do you even know?”

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep