by Ink Bamboo
A repertoire of tools, weapons and many other things were scattered around her feet. Taking a pensive pose, she suddenly had an idea, “Let’s try a different approach, shall we?”
Lucille’s blank gaze rose to meet Noelle’s. With a grim smile on his face, he used all his strength to mutter some words, “Try your best, bitch.”
Noelle’s smile widened as shivers racked her entire body. This was a pleasure she had never experienced before. It was the first time one of her targets had managed to endure this much. Bringing them pain was pleasurable, but breaking their spirit was an ecstasy nothing else could compare to.
“Rest assured dear, I will.”
✽✽✽
Zaros’s subordinates kept trying to do what little they could to ease the pain from those still afflicted by poison. Their bleak expressions, however, could not be hidden. There was a limit to how much their minds could endure.
Not even Michael’s efforts were enough. The priest had tried blessing countless basins of water, exhausting all his energy and mana. It would be some time before he could return to action.
Seeing so many people still lying on the ground pained Zaros’s heart. Unfortunately, he had more pressing matters to deal with. It was something that required his full attention.
“Is that the direction they’re coming from?” Zaros asked.
“Indeed,” answered Amro. “I can feel them coming near.”
Following those words, screams and wails echoed in the distance. A man running with all he could was now approaching the boy, no hint of dignity left on his face. It was someone Zaros recognized. Someone he still had a vague memory of. It was none other than the barrel-chested guard who had been guarding the western gate the day he entered the slums. The fool who thought stealing from him was a commendable action.
“Help me!” he cried. Snot was coming out of his nose, swinging wildly from side to side. “Please, help me!”
“What the…”
It was an image that took Zaros by surprise. Never in his wildest dreams did he imagine seeing the same arrogant guard from his memories coming to him for help. It was a display that made him feel disgusted with the man’s lack of dignity.
Should I help him? thought Zaros. Truth be told, he was feeling somewhat petty over the issue. It was an idle thought that stemmed from within his soul against his better judgment. A feeling that felt foreign yet natural.
“Do some—”
Unfortunately for the guard that slight moment of hesitation was all it took to seal his fate in stone. Before he could cry for help a second time, the silhouette of a fox-like creature appeared from an alleyway. Immediately, it pounced unto him, tearing a piece of flesh out of his neck.
The undead beast seemed to enjoy the flesh of the guard, gnawing away as it ignored the man’s frantic attempt to knock it off his back. Each time the guard came close to succeeding, the fox-like creature simply anchored itself with its bite. With time, a group of reinforcements came its aid. Several other undead animals appeared from the same alley, pouncing onto the guard without a shred of reluctance to share their meal. The guard was enough to feed them all.
Before Zaros realized it, Michael was standing to his side, staring at the scene with a ghastly expression. Unlike the boy, he recognized the symbols covering the beasts in the distance. It was the omen of a greater threat to their lives.
“Everyone! Take whoever you care about and run,” instructed Michael, looking towards the people standing behind him and Zaros. “These are not normal beasts, just run!”
“What are they?” asked Zaros in a small voice.
“Undead,” answered Michael, looking at Zaros with a confused look. “It seems like you haven’t been a chosen for long.”
Chosen? thought Zaros.
“Nevermind that,” said Michael. “If they are here, it means something even more dangerous is coming our way. We should use this chance to run away.”
“Oh, how perceptive of you,” noted a voice coming from within the alleyway. “I didn’t expect anything less from a member of your church.”
The owner of the voice soon revealed himself. It was a man, tall and burly with black robes covering most of his body. His eyes looked particularly interesting, for they were completely devoid of life.
“Oh, where are my manners? My name is Bern-”
*Swift*
A throwing knife slid past the Bernard’s cheek, interrupting his words. Despite his best efforts to dodge it, he found a hissing mark burning away the skin of his cheek. It was evidence that he had not been fast enough.
Michael stood with his hand extended, staring at Bernard’s face with incomparable hatred. His earlier attack had been ineffective but he was still preparing another set of knives. It was evident he didn’t take his opponent lightly.
“And here I thought I was being rude,” said Bernard. “Chuckling blessed steel away like that is not a nice thing to do to someone you just met. Is a regional church like yours really able to throw that much money away?”
“What is an envoy of death doing here?” asked Michael, his voice seething with disgust. “The Church of Death has no place outside the mainland.”
“And why exactly should I tell you?” retorted Bernard, taking a small vial from underneath his robes and pouring it onto the wound in his cheek. “It isn’t like you have any authority over me.”
A hissing sound came from the liquid Bernard poured on his face, causing the wound left by Michael’s knife to fade away. Blessed steel had special properties against the undead, ones that could make the mana that kept them stable grow erratic. Fortunately for Michael, his guess had been right: Bernard wasn’t entirely human.
Seeing them fight with their words, Zaros took a chance to have a talk with Amro. He was having trouble fully grasping the situation.
“Is this is the threat you warned me about?”
“No,” answered Amro. “That brute is far from being a necromancer. Not that he is any less threatening to someone with your strength.”
“Necromancer?” asked Zaros. As a child from the forest, he was ignorant about the different paths those of faith and magic could take.
“Nevermind that, boy. You just got to know that it’s in your best interests to deal with him as soon as possible.”
Even at a time like this, Amro wanted Zaros to deal with the situation. The way he saw it, it would drive the boy into a situation that would further stimulate his growth. On the other hand, Amro wanted to remain in the shadows. That way, he would be able to find out what the apostles of death were trying to do.
At this moment, Michael disturbed Zaros’s conversation with Amro to request his help. “Hey, kid, you’re a Chosen right? Help me deal with this guy. Otherwise, things are going to get ugly.”
Zaros nodded before he turned back to look at the people from the slums. “Maria, Alexander, take everyone who’s capable of fighting and protect the injured from those beasts. If things turn sour, don’t hesitate to flee.”
“Yes, boss!” came the answer from the two siblings. They could tell it was a fight they had no place in from the look in Michael and Zaros’s eyes. Thus, they immediately everyone towards safety.
“Ok, priest, what’s your plan?” asked Zaros.
“We hold him down and pray for Vita to guide our way,” said Michael.
Like she cares, thought Amro. At this time, the Goddess of Life was probably too busy focusing on her own plans to worry about the life and death of a few mortals.
“Are you done?” asked Bernard, his lifeless eyes lingering on Zaros. “If it isn’t too much trouble, I’d like that young man to come with me. You said he was a Chosen, right? I’d like to have some words with him about that.”
Chapter 29
Break.
A blast caused by alchemical fire knocked away a group of survivors who were trying to flee. Fortunately for Zaros, neither Maria nor Alexander were in that group, as they were still helping others evacuate. The one responsible
for this was none other than Bernard.
His hands still held a few orange vials in them, much like the one that had just been thrown. The vicious explosion caused by them had been not something to scoff at. Not that Bernard agree with that sentiment. It was evident by his cheeky smile that he wasn’t afraid of using the remaining ones should Zaros and Michael refuse to listen to his instructions.
“Well then. Are you willing to come with me, boy?” asked Bernard once again.
Michael’s eyes pleaded for Zaros not to step forward. God knows what the church of death would do if they got their hands on a Chosen. Though, what god is he a Chosen for? thought Michael, realizing he hadn’t asked all this time.
“I won’t,” answered Zaros.
His answer took Michael by surprise. The boy had not given him the impression that he would reject the proposal so quickly. From their previous interactions, he seemed like the kind of person who would have stalled for time in order to come up with a strategy. Perhaps even Amro would have shared his astonishment had he not shared a connection to the boy.
“I don’t think you are someone who would keep his word,” said Zaros, explaining the reasoning behind his choice. “If you want me to believe you, you could start by getting rid of those beasts, at the very least.”
Bernard’s felt his interest in Zaros increasing after receiving such an answer. He originally expected a simple rejection, not a counter with such a rational request from the young man. He found it amusing, truly deserving of someone with the courage to steal his god’s legacy.
Breaking into laughter, Bernard pretended to clutch his sides, giving plenty of opening to his two opponents. He was luring them in to take action. One could tell from his body that he focused on close-combat.
“Oh, naïve boy,” said Bernard. “You think these beasts are the only undead on our side? Let me show you something else.”
With a clap of his hands, a file of people exited the alleyways and filled the streets. It was a small mob, covered in the same glyphs as the beasts from before.
Zaros’s eyes went wide when he saw the group of newcomers. A spark of hatred and rage erupted within his heart and soul. Even Amro was temporarily stifled by the vivid feedback he received from their connection. Both of them knew the identity of those walking corpses.
A woman with a leather apron and brown hair, a man with a quiver tied to his back, even a child with a series of scars on his arms. All of them had familiar faces. They were the villagers who had once lived with Zaros. The same men and women Amro had given a proper burial despite their circumstances. Yet here they were, defiled and tainted. Their humanity besmirched, now vessels of hatred, hunger, and disdain for the living.
“Oh, that’s a nice reaction,” taunted Bernard. His lifeless eyes seemed to gain a spark from the sadistic revelation. “So, you wanted me to kill these fiends, right?
Zaros refused to answer. His instincts told him that no matter what he replied, he still wouldn’t like the results. He had to do something. The anger in his heart would never settle if he didn’t erase this man’s existence.
Amro was secretly jubilant. This was it, the catalyst he had been waiting for so long. The reason he had tried to leave the boy to face his own troubles as much as he could. After experiencing this anger, Zaros’s body was finally about to awaken.
If advancing to rank one was akin to making his body compatible to external powers, the advancement to rank two required his body to become the origin of that power. Now, the strong emotions the boy felt, combined with the instinctive need to draw blood from his opponent, caused his body to no longer be satisfied by the mana in the atmosphere. No, it now needed something else. Something it could only provide itself.
The currents in Zaros’s soul soon fed that power to the boy. Aura. Not a shallow awakening, but the kindling of a torrential amount of power under his control.
*Clank*
Zaros’s dagger was blocked by the steel armguard in Bernard’s hand. The quick slash from his dagger had barely been visible, carrying speed and strength incomparable to what the boy had displayed in previous occasions.
Even Michael’s eyes went wide as he realized what had happened. The boy had achieved a breakthrough.
The sound of metal clashing against metal soon echoed through the slums as Zaros continued a barrage of attacks against Bernard. The techniques he displayed were not something usually seen in someone who had just achieved a breakthrough. They were the results of someone who had trained under the best teachers for many years.
However, Zaros wasn’t just ‘someone’. He had been trained under Amro’s tutelage for the last couple weeks, achieving a mastery over his body not befitting of his rank. Now, with the acquisition of a new power, the boy could fully display the prowess he had acquired from within Amro’s soul domain.
Even Michael was surprised. Was this what they meant when they said the Chosen were aberrants? Could someone really display this much combat prowess just seconds after a breakthrough?
*Clank*
Sensing a familiar feeling coming from Zaros, Bernard’s eyes held a mix of confusion, glee, and fear.
“So it truly was you, our guess wasn’t wrong. You truly obtained our lord’s legacy,” he said. He wasn’t afraid of his secret being revealed to the onlookers. His voice was hidden from outsiders by the repeated clashing of his armor against Zaros’s dagger.
The boy, on the other hand, refused to speak as he kept attacking in a practiced manner. The only thing on his mind right now was how he needed to use his abilities to stop Bernard once and for all.
“You can’t hide it from me! That’s the scent of our lord. Those are even the same knife technique he passed down unto us. A simplified version, perhaps, but the same technique altogether.”
*Clank*
“Come with me boy. You can join our order, worship our god and be bathed in his glory. You can help us usher in a new age of glory and power for our church. Stop this foolish beha—”
*Slash*
Finally, one of Zaros’s hits successfully broke through Bernard’s defenses. It sliced through skin and bone, robbing him from one of his hands. Black blood oozed from it, evidencing the fact that the man had long been dead.
So that was it, thought Amro. They opened the vault.
During his reign as a god, he had left behind a depository only for his most loyal, ordained priests to access. It contained secrets of many kinds like forgotten arts, spells, and scriptures. Bernard’s black, oozing blood was the effect of a particular scripture he had left behind. One that taught a method for immortal life through death.
As the God of Death, Amro was opposed to having his followers use such a method. However, he understood the value of immortality in the mortal world, and had left it behind as a legacy in case it was ever needed for his church’s survival. It seemed like after his fall, someone had decided to open the vault, making this method accessible to others.
Through this technique, people would be able to sever their soul from their mortal coil. It was much like the technique practiced by necromancers in order to produce a phylactery. But unlike necromancy, it wasn’t a part of the soul that was severed, but the entirety of it. Once done, they would be able to bind it to whatever person they could overpower, killing the body’s original soul whilst retaining control of it.
Amro could see some flaws still present in Bernard’s use of the technique. For his body to be dying like that meant he wasn’t fully able to adapt his soul to the vessel he had chosen. It was very likely he needed to frequently change bodies, which would further erode his soul. If Amro had to guess, he would estimate that without the help of an outsider, Bernard’s soul wouldn’t last more than a couple more transfers before dying a true death.
The erosion of his soul was even more visible when he compared Zaros’s battle prowess to the undead man’s. There was a visible gap in their physical ability despite sharing the same rank. Amro could tell it wasn’t a matter of skill, but a
matter of control over his own body. Being a foreigner to the flesh he controlled, Bernard could not fight to the full extent of his capabilities.
*Slash*
A second attack succeeded. This time, Zaros had managed to use his short stature to sneak an attack on Bernard’s right leg.
“How?” asked Bernard, falling under his own weight. He couldn’t believe the pipsqueak before him had been able to best him in battle. In order to achieve success, he had drunk several elixirs before it even started.
*Slash*
Zaros stood by his decision to not speak another word to Bernard. With a final strike, he separated the apostle’s head from his body, quenching some of the anger on his heart with the man’s death.
It was finally over. The coagulated dark blood staining his dagger dripped to the ground, falling at the same rhythm as the drops of sweat on his forehead.
While Zaros dealt the finishing blow, Amro made sure to seal their victim’s fate. Simple manipulation of the environment’s mana made it easy to ensure Bernard’s weakened soul was scattered, therefore preventing it from taking one of the undead beasts in the vicinity as a new body.
Zaros turned to look at Michael, a slight look of melancholy in his eyes. “You do it,” he requested.
“Huh?” said Michael. “Do what?”
“You’re a priest, right? Please give them the peace they deserve,” Zaros said, pointing towards the undead villagers assaulting the remaining slum dwellers.
Michael complied, although not without asking, “Are they related to you?”
However, Zaros didn’t answer. He instead moved towards the priest’s throwing dagger. The same one he had thrown at Bernard moments earlier. Without requesting any permission, he took it for himself, tying it to his belt.
For a moment, Michael felt like asking it back. The cost of producing blessed steel wasn’t something his meager salary could pay for. Unfortunately for him, his contributions in the last fight hadn’t been enough to grant his words any authority. He couldn’t complain. The dagger had found a more capable owner. Instead, he chose to continue eliminating the undead, breaking away the power of the sigils in their bodies. Every time he did, the bodies crumbled away into the wind.