Shadow of the Abyss

Chapter 370 The Crucible IV

Altair could hardly believe how fast his wrist moved to push Sarrin to intercept the arc of annihilating sword light that bore him through the wall behind him. Blood spewed from his mouth as his body tumbled and rolled across the bailey.

He stabbed Sarrin into the earth to slow his roll, picking his gaze up to glare at the elderly Ninth Circle, three meters away, then to the river of blood gathered from out the foyer where a scar rested across the stone.

Effortlessly, he stood to his feet, with no hope that anyone would survive that blade but Ian. From the sounds of screaming inside and the clanking of metal, he knew it was true.

Amar Du Vadica shook, the saber in his arms trembling as if it was too heavy to hold. "You survived that?"

Silently, Altair prepared himself. He could feel his perception slowing, his Psionic Mind enhancing his already inhuman perception. The world appeared to glow beneath his enhanced cognitive prowess, which left him with a calm that seemed almost indescribable.

[Psionic Mind has granted Spatial Cognition]

[Psionic Mind has Enhanced Soul of the Indomitable by a factor equal to Arcane Circle]

[Psionic Mind has Enhanced The Ninth Form, Aeron, by a factor equal to Arcane Circle]

A/N: 4x

[Psionic Mind has granted Mortal (Grade) Enlightenment]

In one swell swoop, blood ran down his nose, black as ink, at the sudden insurgence of authority blossoming from his soul. As if he had been a frog within a well all his life, making its escape into a world that seemed beyond mortal understanding, he saw through the eyes of a Transcendent.

He saw the motion of Dao that readily offered its infinite knowledge. So overwhelming it was blood pulsed from his nose in small utterances.

Amar frowned. "Your sick... No matter. Once I lop off your head, it'll—"

"I understand, Father, Mother," he said, no longer before Amar Du Vadica but before the Black Lake of Vale Qi. His feet rippled over the lake. Beneath the lake, far deeper than what a reflection should have reached, the motion of his mirrored image filled the Vale.

Altair Blackwood lifted his Vale Sword towards the Heavens, turning day to blackest Night.

Transcendents and Deities and Gods alike raised their heads to the Night, cloaked in the night mother's embrace. A Black Moon shone within the Night, followed by the Black Sun that stood in opposition.

On her throne, Lilith Snow's tongue clicked."So the Black Sun approves of you. My son is kinder than I would have been." Slowly, almost reluctantly, she closed her eyes, pushing it from her mind. "Do as you will, Child of the Black Moon."

From the Black Moon came a tear deeper than the deepest Night, shattering into nodes above Altair's brow.

As if a dam broke, a transcendent light challenged the Night.

'Pathetic,' he thought, cutting his sword across space.

In a flash, the expanding ball of light inverted on itself before piercing ever upwards, through the clouds into the beyond, before fading to nodes of light.

Abruptly, he paled, falling to a knee, shaken by the measure of fatigue he had managed to build. His labored breath dragged heavy. Ian hurried to his side, taken back by the lack of injuries, unlike the many scars his body held.

"Young Master... are you—"

Altair raised a palm to silence him. The last thing he needed was to be questioned. He panted, forcing himself to stand, his world suddenly spinning out of control. He wanted to puke.

"How many are alive?"

Ian looked as if he had eaten a Bitterbug. "Just me, Young Master Nox. Just me...." he teared up, a glimmer of shame burning his cheeks. "I failed you! Failed them." he bowed his head, and his voice grew faded. "I'm sorry I—"

It was only then Altair seemed to notice how pale Ian had become and the injuries he'd sustained. From his back, he counted five arrows, with a dozen lacerations sprawled across his shoulder, abdomen, and throat. How he was alive was anyone's guess.

"For...gi...ve me," he muttered one final time before sound and strength left him.

Ian Vastnar died on one knee; his head bowed before his master.

"Is he dead?" movement sounded from the forest, and two men Altair slightly recognized made their appearance. They were ones he'd glimpsed with Corvan.

The one in gold reached into his robe and took out a dagger with an unbridled smile. "You're the fucker who killed Corvan. Elder Grim said we can defile ya all we want." He licked his lips, stepping onto the bailey.

Altair could barely understand him with that thick accent, looking at their approach with murky eyes.

"A mortal using Transcendent Intent; I'm sure you're in a state of soul exhaustion," The one in gold announced nastily. He touched his crotch and asked, "You ever been fucked, boy? Ever had a real man inside you?"

"... I can't say that was what I expected to come out your mouth," Altair admitted. Unsure what he just heard. He blinked, curious if he was hallucinating. Was it possible to hallucinate sound?

"Old Corvan was a tight fuck. I wonder what—"

"Yeah... I don't really want to hear any of that," Altair squeezed out, lifting Sarrin. He hadn't the mental focus to create a Vale Sword. He barely had the strength to cast a single spell.

They were both Seventh Circle, though the one in gold, Ruen, carried a different aura. It was focused, much like Altairs. He was sure to be able to fight above his circle.

"I'll make you scream my name, boy. And when I'm done, I'll even stroke your hair and make you feel so pretty as I slit your throat. That way, you'll feel alive when I end you."

'That might be the wildest thing I've ever heard in all my life,' Altair thought, trying not to laugh at the absurdity of it all. He smiled nonetheless, pointing Sarrin forward, transcendent Intent swirling around the blade's edge.