Sunscorch (Rise To Omniscience Book 8)

by Aaron Oster

  Looking at the liquid more carefully, Morgan realized that even when he scooped it up, it maintained its silvery-white coloration. He had no idea what it was, and he wasn’t going to try and taste it to find out, but he had a feeling that this boiling lake had a lot more to it than an initial glance might show.

  He continued his swim toward the volcano in the center, feeling his clothes growing heavier and heavier as he did. The heat increased even more as he approached, to the point where he began to feel uncomfortably hot. The steam grew thicker, heavier, and, at one point, he could barely see anything. Only the knowledge that the volcano was right before him kept him going.

  Finally, when the temperature of the liquid began to burn him, Morgan felt his fingers brush up against the rough surface of the island, and he pulled himself out, feeling his body cool almost instantly. He took a couple of minutes to breathe, wondering if this steam was damaging his lungs. After all, he had no idea what the liquid was, so breathing it in might not be beneficial to his health.

  Then again, he’d been breathing it ever since he’d descended to the level of the lake, and nothing had happened to him. He’d probably be fine, and if he wouldn’t… well, it was too late for that now.

  A light thrumming went through his chest then, a tugging sensation in his center, seeming to pull him up the mountainside. Turning, Morgan stared upward, trying to peer through the mists to see what lie on top. But, as he’d expected, the steam was too thick, and seeing more than a few feet in any direction was all but impossible. There was nothing to it; he needed to begin climbing.

  Reaching up, Morgan’s fingers curled around the first outcropping of stone, and he began hauling himself up. The stone felt rough, jagged, and oddly airy beneath his fingers, as though it would all crumble away if he squeezed too hard. Years of experience had taught him how to control his strength, and he managed to continue without breaking anything.

  At first, he worried that his weight might be an issue, that his dense musculature would cause the stone to crumble when he put his weight on it, but it held, allowing him to make swift progress up the side of the mountain. It was an almost sheer climb – oddly enough – and when he finally made it clear of the steam, Morgan could see that he’d inadvertently picked the hardest path to the top, though he didn’t believe it to be a coincidence.

  He could have begun pulling himself over to the left or right to take an easier path up, but somehow, he felt that would be wrong. If he took an easier way up, he would be diminishing all of the pain and suffering he’d been through to get there. The thrumming in his center grew stronger, urging him ever upward.

  The light in the sky was almost completely gone by now, the setting sun painting the horizon in brilliant shades of red, orange, and purple. He could see the lip of the volcano, just a few feet above, and as Morgan pulled himself over the edge, he felt his core connect to something.

  He stared downward, his chest, shoulders, and head poking above the lip of the crater as he looked into Eternity. The Well of Consciousness lay thousands of feet below, a bright, violet glow radiating from its center and climbing up the sides of the crater. He could feel it, could feel the Well calling to him. Could see what it promised and what he could do with the power it would provide.

  But it was more than that.

  The Well didn’t just promise power; it promised answers. Answers to the questions he so desperately desired, like who he truly was and what his purpose in this world had been. He knew why he’d been created, but why did he continue to exist. Shouldn’t a monstrosity like him have been locked away, just as the Pinnacle Kings were? And, once he’d made it out, why had he been left to roam?

  Without even realizing it, Morgan began slipping from the lip, leaning farther and farther over the edge as the Well continued calling to him.

  Then, before he knew what was happening, Morgan was falling, wind rushing past him, and the light fading quickly. He fell far below the surface of the lake and continued falling. He was falling much faster than should have been possible, the walls blurring by far quicker than the air resistance he felt against his clothes.

  It was almost as though the walls themselves were moving in the opposite direction, pulling the very ground up to meet him.

  Then, he suddenly found himself on the ground, his chest slamming into it, and though he felt no pain, Morgan felt weaker than he had in years.

  Rising shakily to his feet, he found himself facing another Gatekeeper, this one with burning violet eyes showing from beneath its hood.

  “You have reached the Well of Consciousness, King of Beasts. Although you are not ready, you cannot leave without first completing the challenge laid out before you.”

  “Oh yeah? And what challenge would that be?” he asked, looking around for a boat to get into and not finding one.

  “The challenge that any who reach this point must face,” the Gatekeeper said, its body beginning to fade. “One that tests who you truly are, when stripped of all you possess.”

  The Gatekeeper faded at that, leaving Morgan to stare out across the bottom of the crater, looking around for some way forward. The ground began to shake then, leaving him stumbling for balance, as a stone plate slid aside, and a familiar-looking wolf began to rise above its level.

  Its icy blue fur was all-too recognizable, as it was the first beast he’d faced with the knowledge that failure was likely, yet he’d still insisted on fighting it. Not because of any sort of tenacity or will, but because he’d wanted to. Wanted to feel something other than the constant emptiness within.

  However, facing something like this hardly seemed like a challenge at all. Sure, once upon a time, it had been tough, but with how much he’d grown since obtaining his ability, this beast was more likely to break its teeth on his skin than do any damage at all.

  He stared at the beast, and it stared back, unmoving on its stone pedestal. Finally, Morgan just shrugged and acted, reaching for his Compression and lashing out with a punch that would blow the beast to pieces.

  Except, nothing happened.

  Morgan’s brow furrowed as he stared down at his clenched fist, wondering what was wrong. He looked back up to the beast, wondering if his skills were somehow being blocked, just as his teleportation and flight had been in the last Well.

  Still, even if they were, he was plenty strong enough to take this thing down without them. Gathering himself up, Morgan sprang forward, intending to cover the distance between him and the beast in a single leap and crush its skull.

  Except, once again, the unexpected happened.

  The leap that was intended to take him forward over fifteen yards took him only a foot. He stumbled as he landed, waving his arms to try and maintain his balance. He fell then, catching himself on his palms.

  Heat flared in his hands, followed a moment later by an unexpected pain. Wincing, Morgan looked down at his hands to see that the skin had been rubbed away by his fall and that a single, loose stone had become lodged in his hand. Pulling it out, Morgan felt the discomfort increase as blood welled up from where the stone had been removed.

  Only then did it finally dawn on him what was going on, the Gatekeeper’s words truly sinking in for the first time.

  When stripped of all he possessed, meaning the skills, abilities, and growth he’d obtained since awakening his power, how would he react? Morgan’s heart began to race then, and he noticed a very distinct difference to how it normally felt. Placing his hand to his chest, Morgan could feel it beating, the rhythmic pounding coming from within, all too organic.

  This, more than anything, showed him what he was truly up against.

  When he’d awakened his power, his heart had been replaced by his cores, and while they functioned much the same way, they weren’t made of organic material. Now though, his powers were gone, and he could feel the presence of a normal, human heart, something he hadn’t felt since before his awakening.

  A low growl echoed through the chamber then, and he looked up to see th
e ice-bristle wolf baring its teeth at him. Morgan felt his heart rate spike as he realized what he was going to have to do. He was going to have to fight a rank 9 beast, and all with his very vulnerable, very human body.

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  The first thing he tried to do was reach back to grab the spear, so at least he had a weapon. His fingers closed on empty air, leaving him with nothing but his fists to face off against a beast who had nearly killed him once before. The difference was that this time, he was far weaker.

  The wolf began to pad forward, its glowing yellow eyes fixed on him and its jaws cracking open to reveal a mouth filled with sharp teeth. The beast itself wasn’t as large as he remembered, although, in his defense, he had been a half-foot shorter in their first encounter.

  Morgan began slowly backing away, feeling something he had never felt in a fight before. It was so strange that he was sure he had to be mistaken, but when the wolf made a small lunge and Morgan stumbled back, he realized that what he was feeling was genuine fear.

  It wasn’t fear for others’ safety or what it would cost them, but genuine fear for his own life. He could never remember feeling something like this before, and when the wolf lunged, he stumbled again.

  Sweat began beading on his brow as he tried desperately to find something he could use as a weapon or perhaps some way out of this pit, where he could get his near invulnerability back.

  Just minutes before, he hadn’t thought twice about leaping off the side of a mountain or diving headfirst into a boiling lake. Now, a mere fall had caused him to bleed, and Morgan didn’t like it at all!

  The wolf made a small lunge again, and he lost his footing, but this time, it wasn’t a feint. The beast followed up, leaping forward, mouth open wide. He dove to the side, feeling his heart in his throat. Instead of tucking into a near combat roll and springing back to his feet without incident, Morgan felt the impact on his shoulder, the jarring pain as he pulled through the roll and got back to his feet.

  Wincing at the pain, he quickly turned, just in time to see the wolf lunging at him again. He panicked and ducked, the beast sailing above his head. Its back leg clipped him, and a searing pain flared in his cheek as it sliced through the defenseless skin.

  It was both burning hot and freezing cold at the same time, and when he reached up, his hand came away bloody.

  His throat was so dry that Morgan had a hard time swallowing, and as he stumbled back to his feet, he had to wonder how humans ever got through life if they were constantly this weak.

  Sure, he’d lost plenty of fights in his time, but he had always gone into them with the knowledge that he could defend himself, that he had weapons at his disposal. Now though…

  Morgan raised his hand, still covered in his own blood. It was trembling, shaking so badly that he could scarcely believe it. Looking up, past his trembling hand, he could see the wolf turning, its muzzle bunching up in an annoyed snarl. He knew that this time the beast wouldn’t be rushing in blindly, hoping for an easy kill.

  It would stalk him, back him into a corner, and when he had nowhere left to run, it would pounce.

  He tried to calm his racing heart as he had so many times before, by taking a deep breath and centering himself. But when he breathed in, it was a shaky, uneven thing that did absolutely nothing to calm him down. The pain in his cheek and hands was all too real, and the throbbing in his shoulder from the clumsy roll beat to the rhythm of his racing heart.

  Morgan had always known that fear like this was perfectly rational, but it was something he’d never had to deal with, even while growing up on the streets of City Four. Sure, he hadn’t been strong at all, but he’d jumped into fights headfirst without thoughts of his own safety. Now, Morgan was very much aware of what he was facing and what would happen should he fail. And despite all that, despite knowing all he needed to fight for, all he could think about was surviving.

  The ice-bristle wolf began padding forward, weaving from side to side and slowly backing him toward the far wall. He tried to move to one side, then the other, but the wolf followed, making shallow lunges and forcing him back.

  His hand curled into fists to try and stop the shaking, and it was only then that he remembered something. Something that Condor, the man who’d both trained him and turned him into what he’d eventually become, had constantly told him while beating one lesson after the next into him.

  “Weapons don’t make you stronger, they only show how weak you truly are. The moment you need to rely on anything other than yourself is the moment you die. With the martial arts, you always go into battle with nine weapons. Weapons that cannot be taken away from you without your opponent physically removing them.

  “So long as you remember these lessons, you will never be defenseless. So long as you can throw an elbow or a kick, you can still fight. And if you can fight, you can win.”

  Morgan blew out another shaky breath as he looked down at his trembling fist. Although he’d taught Grace all about them, real martial arts hadn’t been something he’d relied on in years. Sure, he’d used the basic forms to maintain proper technique when he punched or kicked, but he’d relied on the power granted to him by his enhanced body and skills rather than technical skill.

  After all, what was the point in using proper technique when you could blow a hole through the side of a mountain with a single punch?

  He let out another shaky breath, and although his heart was still pounding, he managed to push the fear down enough to take up a fighting stance. His fingers dug painfully into his skinned and bleeding palms, and his knees trembled as he slid his feet apart, but the stance was solid and would give him a good base.

  There was still no way he could even hope to damage a rank 9 beast as he was. Even the strongest kick would do little more than annoy it, and from experience, Morgan knew that throwing a wild kick at a beast that could turn its fur into a patch of makeshift knives wasn’t the smartest idea to begin with.

  The wolf continued advancing, and Morgan knew that he could either attack now, when he still had the space to move, or in a couple of minutes, when his back would be against the wall and he’d have nowhere to dodge.

  He took a few quick steps forward, then threw a low roundhouse at one of the wolf’s front paws. The beast snarled and pulled back, Morgan’s kick missing its mark completely. He pulled it back, resuming his stance and advancing slowly.

  Sweat trickled down his back, and he could feel the perspiration gathering on his forehead as he slowly advanced, licking his dry lips and keeping his eyes locked on those of the beast. Another lesson ingrained early in his life had been to always watch the eyes, as they would give away intent just an instant before the body. While most would want to watch the limbs, it wouldn’t give them enough warning when an attack was imminent.

  Morgan slowly circled to his right, trying to give himself some more open space, but the wolf leaped in, snapping its jaws at his front leg. He quickly stepped back, switching stances. The switch allowed him to get out of the way and even allowed him to attack the off-balance beast.

  His left leg snapped up, catching the wolf in its chest. Morgan felt the jarring impact travel up his leg, and he pulled it back quickly as the wolf swiped at him. Pain flashed up from his thigh as he hadn’t been quick enough, and the beast’s claws managed to open a series of shallow cuts across his skin.

  The wolf snarled, then snapped at his leg again, and Morgan stumbled back, trying to keep himself away from those oversized teeth. His heart was pounding so quickly that it felt like a single, extended beat, and he was sweating so much that he had to wonder if he hadn’t somehow walked through a storm without realizing.

  He’d barely made any movements at all, yet the Shaman’s robes were clinging to him like a second skin. His hair was plastered to his face and neck, and he was starting to run short of breath.

  The wolf lunged again, and he slid to the side, trying and failing to hit the beast as it flashed past. He growled in annoyance as the wolf turned, his miss a so
re reminder that the speed he had so taken for granted was no longer available to him.

  The wolf lunged once more, but even though he managed to step back in time, its teeth still managed to snag his pant leg. It pulled back, and Morgan found himself hopping on one foot and flailing his arms as he tried to maintain his balance. It was one of the most undignified and terrifying experiences of his life, because as he stumbled around, Morgan knew that the second he fell, his life would come to an end.

  His only advantage over the wolf at the moment was his mobility. The second he lost that, he was finished!

  With a ripping, tearing sound, the pant leg came free, leaving Morgan to stumble back, fighting to keep his footing. The wolf, falling back as well, shook its head, trying to dislodge the material from its teeth.

  Regaining his balance, Morgan swiped an arm across his forehead, blinking sweat out of his eyes as he looked for some way to either take the wolf down or for him to escape.

  Exploring mortality every once in a while was nice and all, but he’d had way too many near-death experiences in the last couple of weeks, and he was perfectly fine with running if it meant survival. Especially right now.

  The wolf finally managed to free itself of the material, then turned its hateful eyes on him. Its muzzle bunched up once more as ice began crackling over its fur. Morgan slowly backed away as the beast raised its nose into the air and let out a bone-chilling howl as its fur stood on end, ice crackling over its hide and solidifying into a coat of armor made of razor-sharp knives.

  The beast lowered its head, turning its gaze on him, and Morgan knew that no martial arts could save him now. There was no way for him to get out of there – he’d already checked, twice – so it was either fight and try to escape or simply allow the wolf to eat him and get it over with quickly. Tempting as that was, though, Morgan still didn’t feel like dying, especially after he’d come this far.