The Exalt [Cultivation Fantasy]

A few minutes earlier….

'It won't be easy. Saul is a peak Tricrown King Exalt near the cusp of entering the Primaere realm. The three of us together won't be a match for him.' His father, Remulus, spoke through the Resonance, sharing their thoughts instantly. Sweeping his spatial domain onto the other two, Draven teleported them to safety, away from Saul's powerful arrows, which spun and bolted toward them again. Remulus waved his hand, Ein distorting their area, and backtracked their position to where they once were. 'He's using quite a lot of Ein in invoking many spells at once, but we'll be the ones to die first.'

'And? What does the great strategist of the Pavilion have in mind?' Caires said, swinging his broadsword. He cleared a path to Saul and dove straight in, grinning fiercely, his joy at the battle clear to all through the Resonance. He flashed across Saul's spidery figure, light increasing his speed as time and space blinked him everywhere.

'We have to be defeated, but not severely enough. There is only one way to remove him.' Remulus turned to Draven. Meeting his father's gaze, Draven knew that someone had to be the bait and that one had to sacrifice himself for the killing blow. He saw Oscar in the distance, protected by a barrier of space and time from the aftershocks of the battle. A smile crept up his lips. As long as his disciple survived and this enemy could never haunt him again, then it was worth it.

'I'll do it.' Draven volunteered.

…….

Back to the present.

In mid-air, Draven focused a tremendous amount of Eirin into his fist. His Integration could not be recalled, and his chakrams were useless here. Toward the wide-eyed betrayer, he felt only the desire to destroy. The Eirin condensed, honed to the thinnest layer on his fist, and wielded the endless devouring of space. His fist's path became a vacuum, devoid of all, carving a trail of shattered space, which shrieked endlessly.

Saul could escape, but they had prepared for that. Caires's light formed a large formation in the ground, strengthening the chains and creating more bindings. His father poured immense Ein to catch Saul in a time prison, halting him as the area around him no longer witnessed the passing of seconds. Draven stomped his right foot down, a tremor of agony coursing through his organs and veins. Growling, he drove his fist closer to Saul's head.

"Futile!" Saul shouted, his eyes bloodshot from exertion as veins writhed on his face. His overwhelming Ein broked the chains of light, their shattered links clattering to the ground before dispersing into faint motes, slowly forcing a split second to pass. His hand was raised high enough in that split second, and an adamantium shield blocked Draven's way. The Ein surged higher, attempting to regain more control, but Remulus used up all of the Ein within him, intensifying the time prison.

Undeterred, Draven's fist hit the adamantium shield, his ears assaulted by the sound of the world heaving under the weight of their power. His Ein flowed freely and exploded, and his knuckles cracked the shield's surface, a few fragments screeching as they fell off. Roaring, Draven drove his fist deeper, the cracks spreading to all corners until he broke through, striking with a vengeful blow onto Saul's hand.

Inside the time prison, Draven could move, thanks to his father's masterful control, and Saul had only the option to face him forward. An adamantium sword protruded, only the tip extending an inch from Saul's palm, but it contained a devastating amount of Ein. Instantly, the blade's tip stabbed into his knuckles, blood not flowing due to the halted time. Draven gritted his teeth and put all of his weight and power behind his fist.

Sharp winds of metal fragments and slicing spatial remnants burst from the epicenter of their clash, untamed and chaotic. Many of them cut into Draven while pitter-pattering on Saul's body, only tearing at his robes. A part of it cut into his helmet, and a piece of it fell off his head, but he didn't care, his focus entirely on Saul, glaring hatefully at the elder. He didn't know why that hand was burned to a charred black, but it was an opportunity of a lifetime, a weakness that created an opening.

His father had noticed it earlier and had Caires concentrate a good amount of bindings to contain the healthy hand. Draven had to admit it. His father was one amazing strategist and tactician, reading everything up to this point. Not wishing to fall behind and ruin the one chance from meticulous planning, he soldiered forward, his fist splitting in two from swallowing the blade's tip. His bare knuckles touched Saul's charred palm, and all the spatial destruction concentrated within began to burst out in a great Omnireus.

A single heart thumped rapidly inside his chest since the other one ceased. It was Tasha's heart, still beating inside him as if she was right beside him, fighting to support him.

'Hello, Tasha is here! Who are you?' A woman introduced herself by proclaiming her arrival. Her long eyelashes batted lightly as the wind blew her long brown hair around, freely flowing as they pleased. He met her gaze and beheld a pair of bright blue eyes, the kind that he could say surpassed the oceans and the sky. Her slight freckles only added to her adorableness. He finally remembered what she looked like, the most beautiful person in the world.

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Draven pushed Saul's hand back an inch. An anxious light flashed across the vile man's eyes.

'Eh? You're the Draven? Then why are you here? And what's with that helmet?' Her laughter echoed clearly in his mind. He had forgotten how it sounded for the longest time. Was his nearing death allowing him to remember now? Whatever the reason, Draven loved to hear her laugh, the delightful sound soothing every inch of his body and soul. Pieces fell off his helmet, revealing more of his face that he kept hidden for so long.

'Want to eat? I have a full table of amazing dishes here. What? You want me to teach you how to cook? I can…but are you a Grade Eight? I thought all of you were uptight. I was wrong! Here! My very own cookbook!' That was right. All his generation's Grade Eight Exolsia Exalts focused entirely on their training. That was right. She was the one who taught him how to cook. He spent many days struggling to cook a simple stew while she giggled and taught him patiently.

His fist pushed the palm back another inch. Saul's hand formed an unnatural shape, the fingers broken and the bones protruding from the skin.

'Is it delicious?' His voice and hers overlapped.

'It's delicious!' His younger voice and Oscar's overlapped.

'Right…Oscar enjoyed your food just as much as I did. At least I found someone else who could appreciate that.' Draven chuckled, disappointed at himself for not teaching his disciple how to cook. He had cooked every feast and enjoyed seeing someone else delight in it. His sense of taste left him a long time ago. He thought he would never be free of the madness, knowing his lover's heart rested in him as his mind degraded over the decades. But someone else came along.

'Master! I did it!' Oscar smiled from the pit, hoisting his shovel high. Despite being covered in dirt and dressed in rags, his disciple cheered at the progress he made. At first, he trained him on a whim, but the Grade Four stuck out to him, the same grade as Tasha's. The circumstances that brought Oscar to him reminded him of Tasha's death. Perhaps that was why he bothered to train him.

'Let's fight!' The boy became rather eager to get revenge on him for the torturous training.

'Master, I'm back. I brought some tea.' The cheeky brat got himself in more trouble and returned with a horrible gift of substandard tea from the common area.

'Master. Is this how you do it?' His first swing of the hammer.

'I will return from Ashen Grove. Please take care, Master.' Oscar bowed and departed. If only he knew the boy would be gone for twenty years, he would have stopped him.

'Please wake up! I'm back!' Then he returned to him, stronger and happier than before, having encountered many enemies. Draven bared his teeth, angered by the despair that crushed his once-lively disciple, the despair that this old bastard put on him. His fist crushed the charred hand into ashes and bashed ahead to Saul's face. He heard everything that Saul said from his father's words. Oscar should have had a good life with his wife and friends after the war, protected by him until the end. If it weren't for him, this old bastard, then Oscar's friends would still be alive. Whose fault was it? It was all because of him.

"You! Dare! Hurt! My! Disciple!" Draven shouted, ramming his fist into Saul's face. He expected resistance, and indeed, it came. Saul's body was encased in adamantium. Using the last of his strength, Draven tore apart the shell, turning its shattered remains into a fine powder that soon became nothing after space rendered them into the void. His fist finally made contact with Saul, tapping him on the cheek, all the Ein and strength used up in the long trek, which happened in a mere second.

Forcing his head forward against Draven's weak and bloodied fist, Saul smirked, exposing his few teeth. "You used everything, poured out your soul, to barely splatter blood on my face. I do admit it is admirable your fist reached me. But–" He glanced at the other two, who barely clung to life, still maintaining the prison and bindings. "-you have no more moves to play. Now die."

Draven felt something stabbing into his chest. A cursory glance showed it was Saul's arm, and the gnarled hand grasped his remaining heart, Tasha's heart. Grabbing the arm, he coughed out blood, refusing to let this bastard crush his beloved's heart. His voice, short of breath from the pressure emanating from the hand in his heart, gasped out, "You…you…."

"What now?" Saul raised an eyebrow.

"You fool," Draven smirked in the same manner his father loved to do when catching one in a trap during a game or battle. The last bit of his Ein burst, and he reached into the void, his other hand appearing right before Saul's nose. A small round pill entered Saul's mouth from a flick, melting instantly. The old man's face twisted from anger. He crushed Draven's heart, spitting out profusely, seemingly wanting to expel what he ate.

Collapsing to the ground, Draven sat on his knees, blood gushing from the hole in his chest. His vision became hazy, a darkness lingering on the edges of his sight and growing by the second. He glanced at Caires and nodded, thanking him silently for the aid. He stuck his gaze on his father and master, smiling faintly, remembering when he was saved from the wreckage of the airship and carried out of the flames, which had burned his head to a mess.

Lastly, he stared in Oscar's direction, seeing the young disciple still in the middle of his advancement. Draven laughed and lowered his head, facing the red grass. He mumbled to Oscar, "What did you see?" He knew one day, his disciple would overcome the tragedies of this war and today. He hoped Oscar would remember seeing his master's last great display of resistance and carry that same spirit onward.

'Forgive me, Rosett and Maggie. You've wasted years waiting for me. It simply wasn't meant to be.' Draven felt cold. Yet, a great warmth began to sprout in his heartless chest, and he smiled widely. 'Tasha….I can finally see you now. I made a great disciple. You would have liked him. I thought my life was nothing but regrets and mistakes. I failed to protect you. I failed many others. But, to meet and train Oscar…I have no regrets anymore. My life–' He recalled the countless moments training Oscar. '-was not so bad after all.'

The last light of his life faded from his eyes, and the world turned to darkness as he wandered into death. Draven died on his knees, still smiling to the utmost.

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