The Exalt [Cultivation Fantasy]

With the accursed forced away again as the flames continued to burn from the pits, Oscar drank a mouthful of calming elixir freshly concocted by Avril, the tension and weight of stone lifting from his skull. Still, he felt his legs shivering as if chilled to the bone in the dead of winter. It was not an understatement to say right now was a very trying moment. If he couldn't stay up and fight, then this entrance would surely face the consequences. He looked back and saw Avril spreading a dense pollen, aided by a few others. The pollen scattered and swarmed the outer perimeters, latching onto the accursed, their ghastly limbs growing sluggishly slow.

Erden grunted and returned to his original form, clad in sapphire armor, starting a lonely charge through the accursed ranks. His beastly brother seemed to have learned new tricks, and from a glance through the shared memories, Oscar understood well. The true might of a Prielapos lay not in the superfluous abilities they could unleash from their antlers or a beat of their wings but in the simple trampling of their hooves. Erden growled, his hooves shaking the earth as molten steps trailed behind him. Sharpness and destruction worked hand in hand as the wings, stable and firm, sliced cleanly through several accursed, and the antlers impaled dozens. The sheer heat melted the accursed into ashes. Their retaliations failed to pierce the bright armor.

Blue light streaked past Oscar, a few flying right past his ears, a taunt by Demon. These swords, crafted from sharp, primordial blue flames, stabbed right into the heads of the ravenous hordes. His alter ego controlled the swords as if each had a mind of its own, slicing down to bisect their foes in half and then dicing them into shreds. Some of the accursed slipped past Erden's trampling and let out a wrathful screeching, one that cut deeply in the ears. Oscar charged ahead and blocked one blow, flowing the Reis and countering the second one. His fist, wreathed in Eirin and platinum, eviscerated the guts out of the last. His three subordinates coordinated well and hacked and chopped the other two while they were down.

"My Lord! Incoming!" One of the men on the walls shouted, seemingly frightened.

The ground cracked and caved in as an accursed descended from high in the night sky, the blast of air weakening the surrounding inferno for a few seconds. Oscar tensed up and took up a defensive stance, calling Erden and Demon back. An accursed with more defined features, as if strangely alive compared to the withered others, stomped out of the crater, snarling and howling to the ten moons. Its mumbling never ceased. Was it talking to someone? Oscar didn't know, but his eyes widened, then narrowed in confusion at the accursed.

Oscar felt he knew the accursed. It wore the face of an old man, not a weary one but a seasoned warrior who had fought in many battles. A hardened gaze swept across before landing on Oscar, cold determination spilling from the pale eyes. No, they shouldn't be pale; he knew their true colors were blue. But how? He searched his memories, Demon's memories, and Erden's memories, yet not a single face matched the one before him. Stunned, he found himself staring at a vast plain. Corpses were plentiful, far more numerous than the blades of grass on which they rested. A man of white hair and white eyes was beside him, staring over the horrid landscape.

"Volten. He knew you." Oscar clenched his forehead, feeling his brain wriggling underneath the skull. Indeed, it was Volten's memories. He stepped forward, wary over each step as the accursed, who was still mumbling, seemed rather tame. The vast memories of an ancient warrior who fought for perhaps thousands of years were hard to navigate. His consciousness stayed afloat over the unfathomable depths of collective memories. He pointed at the accursed, his voice somber and full of grief as if he knew the man personally, "You are Stegan, friend of Volten and warrior of the Ancients. So this is what became of you."

No fate seemed more terrible than the living example standing here. Stegan let out an incoherent noise as if he had regressed to the speech of a baby, the great warrior whom Volten befriended, now a mere mindless corpse. The other accursed stopped attacking or moving, their pale gazes stuck on Stegan and remaining in place. Even when the flames burned on some, they stood still, bearing witness to this meeting. Everyone else except Erden and Demon wore faces of pure shock, their eyes wandering over in confusion. Their mouths gaped open, unable to speak as only the crackling of flames and Stegan's whimpers filled the stifling air.

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Oscar wasn't sure if his presumptions were correct, but he had to try anyway. He scanned the accursed, scrutinizing their faces. They all bore a striking resemblance to the ones in Volten's memories, squads of companions and loyal followers of the ancient war amongst the living dead. Reaching into his dimensional cube, he gripped tight and pulled out Volten's blade, the hilt as long as a spear's shaft and the blade twice as long as a normal sword gleaming straight and bright under the false moonlight. Some of the accursed's reaction came immediately. They staggered back, a few lurching as if about to bow. Stegan groaned and stared, fixating on the sword.

"I know you don't acknowledge me, only Volten. But I ask that you help me with these warriors who fought by his side long ago." Oscar stroked his finger along the edge of the blade. Surprisingly, its sharpness was at peak condition, cutting through his skin as blood dripped down the edge.

"Come on. Metures created you in the core of Talos. You must know you are needed now." Ignyres in a small flame floated by the tip, pleading with the sword.

After a brief silence, the sword stirred in his grip, and Oscar heard its message, not in words, but a feeling that welled in his heart. It agreed to help but rejected being used as a weapon in his hands. That was enough. Oscar smiled and raised the blade, his Eirin now flowing freely into it when, earlier, any attempts had been rejected. Like water flowing into a jar, the Eirin filled the blade from the hilt until it gleamed sharply on the top, expelling a single hum. A shining radiance poured from the blade and spread forward, the ground quaking under its passing.

Stegan perked up, as did many others. They raised their heads and pounded their chests, stomping their feet in the drummings of war. Oscar closed his lips and drew in a deep breath, his voice coming out with authority and echoing across the hordes of accursed, "Fight for me. And destroy our enemies. Finish the war."

The converted accursed roared, and Stegan turned, charging back into the horde. A swing of his fist felled many foes, breaking their bodies as they were flung across the air, splotching the ground in black blood. They turned on the others, and a civil war broke out. The accursed that knew Volten and fought alongside the legendary warrior rallied under Oscar's call, cleaving and clawing through the enemy. They were mere puppets and cursed corpses, but now they regained their name as warriors.

"My Lord…." The five Haven Academy Exalts gathered and knelt by his feet. Oscar looked aghast but could not stop them as their heads touched the ground, a deep subservient bow not toward a Captain, King, or Emperor but as if they regarded him as a god. Their eyes frightened him, the fiery gazes of loyal zealots who would never question him or rebel against him. Oscar lamented what he had done, but it was necessary to save everyone. These men would now give their lives for him, perhaps kill themselves if he ordered so. And he feared that.

"Stay here," Oscar said, a hint of reluctance in his voice. "Stay here and hold the entrance. I am going now." He walked as the infernos raged past the stone gate, explosions booming and erupting across the plains. But his pace was still and constant, as if he were unbothered by what was happening around him.

"In the darkest times, in the throes of immediate death, the one who comes with the answer beyond others' thoughts and imagination will become the icon of light. The great blaze at which all will bow and worship. So it was for Volten, and so it shall be for you." Ignyres said, but the Ancient sounded grave and grim. If he could grimace on that fiery face, he probably was.

"I don't want to be," Oscar shuddered and drank more elixir. But his breathing was unsettled, unaffected by the calming effects.

"I know, boy. I know. But how else can you save them? Save the ones you love?" Ignyres asked.

The Ancient of Fire went silent after asking, and Oscar had no answer. Indeed, even if they lasted for this night, could he say the same for the nights after? For the entire year, they would have to fight. Gripping Volten's blade tightly, Oscar closed his eyes, unable to unsee the suffering that had happened and what might happen if he never took up the blade. Reaching Marcus's post where his loyal follower gnawed on a corpse, Oscar tossed aside his hesitation and lifted Volten's sword. "Let there be light."

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