The Exalt [Cultivation Fantasy]

"My Lord, it is nearing nightfall," Marcus said, tying his hair back.

Oscar leaned on the cold stone pillar, pressing his hot neck against the refreshingly cool surface as he looked down. An orderly assembly of a hundred Marshal Exalts varying from Greater to Lower marched, some climbing up to stand on the walls and watchtowers. With the improvements in the fortifications and Auren's formations, his entrance and Marcus's were merged, uniting their defenses. At least, when his attention had to be turned elsewhere, he had a reliable second-in-command. Grunting, he said, "So it is."

"Are you certain you don't need anyone else to accompany you? I am willing." Marcus stood a half-step behind his right.

"It's not as if I'm going in person," Oscar walked faster, brushing past the prostrating warriors who mumbled his name in deep reverence. Even near the brink of nightfall, they displayed their fierce loyalty, ever the fanatical zealots. Standing at the very front, he pulled out Volten's sword, latching it on his back like a flagbearer. All eyes went on him, and he didn't know who started it, but someone let out a shout, and like a ripple, it spread, and a cacophony of shouting shook the winds. Marcus had a proud smirk as he chuckled. Erden snorted and trotted to his side, expanding the antler wings.

"Marcus, you are in charge for the last two hours. Understand?" Oscar gestured to the crowd. "Their lives are in your hands."

"I obey, my Lord. Worry not for them, for I'll die before I let you down." Marcus said, his tone lacking the usual joke. He was dead serious.

"No. You are not allowed to die. Or anyone else." Oscar received a short bow from Marcus and nodded. In every conversation, he had to put down their desire to sacrifice themselves for his sake, and it didn't get easier every time. Oscar grew more uncomfortable the more they needed to be reminded of the value of their lives. He faced the army of a hundred Marshal Exalts, unfortunate souls to be born during this era and forced from all corners of Talos to be here. His shout rang clear across the ranks, "That goes for every one of you! You are commanded to live! Fight and survive!"

"Yes! Yes! Yes!" They stomped and stomped, united in one cause.

Staring out the wide entrance resting under a great archway of stone, Oscar strode closer and stood firmly in the center, the rest of the Exalts filing in. Four lines of twenty Marshal Exalts positioned behind him, eyes narrow and fierce, not a hint of fear averting their gazes as their backs pointed true and straight up. Twenty Exalts leaned over the edge of the great wall. He never liked the silence before the deep plunge of darkness, but none wished to speak, their senses and instincts sharpening for the great battle.

The ten orbs dimmed as the deep blue of the day was overtaken by the void, allowing the stars to glimmer brightly yet unable to illuminate the now-black plains. Great fires blazed on the top of the watch towers, but the soothing crackling of the flames was lost to the screeching and howling of maddened monsters. The message was clear. 'We are coming.' An endless tide of accursed trampled over the plains and headed toward the outpost. Compared to the first night, their numbers and ferocity had increased tremendously, as if every night drew more and more horrors from their slumber.

Countless ranged spells whistled across the night like a meteor shower, arching high and descending with overwhelming force. They landed with a loud boom and exploded in great bursts of power. The elements raged into a torrent of chaotic Ein, crushing the first of the accursed to reach the halfway point. But there were too many, and some accursed charged, unharmed, enduring the violent elements that would tear apart anyone. As the ranged spells continued to rain down, Oscar lifted his hand and formed several scarlet-platinum orbs, the fusion of fire and metal. The orbs spun until they shone a bright light and flew toward the accursed closing in. The magnetic distortion stunned the accursed, some straining to move forward, but the explosion engulfed them whole.

"Now!" Marcus shouted.

More cries of confirmation followed. The ground caved in by the walls, exposing a great chasm that circled the entire outpost save for the six roads. Like a waterfall, the accursed fell and dropped en masse as more fires were ignited and rushed up the chasm. Flanked by flames, Oscar stepped down the open path and gripped his shield, forged from metal elemental ore and Erden's antler, yet still shining lustrous obsidian. It thronged with pulsating Eirin. In Pseudoguise, Oscar walked calmly toward the accursed, the light of Volten's sword converting a few to be his warriors.

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An abomination, twice as tall as himself, crushed a converted accursed under its heel. Wings of clutching arms expanded and flapped, sharp gales cutting through the air. It roared and sprinted at an impossible speed for its overbearing size. It tore off its wings and wielded them as blades, swinging them on Oscar from above. Gritting his teeth, Oscar stomped his foot forward and raised his shield, meeting the foul blades head-on in a piercing clank of metals colliding. The abomination gurgled in shock, stared at its trembling blades, and stumbled back, losing to him in sheer strength.

Not to be outdone, Erden, in gigantic form, trampled ahead and impaled the abomination in its antlers coated in sapphire armor. A char spread from the punctures, ashes flaking off the pale flesh as the amalgamated limbs trembled in clear pain. It couldn't resist since Erden lifted it and pushed onward, delving deeper and alone into the accursed hordes, accompanied by the converted. Cheers erupted from behind, and Oscar retreated to the eighty Exalts who brandished their armaments and received the deadly charge of the accursed. A rapid fire of ranged attacks from above eased the pressure, buying time for the melee fighters to cleave and clean up the accursed before them.

"My Lord, go on to the others," Marcus swiped a dragon's claw, severing a head.

Oscar rushed inside and climbed to the walls, spreading the light of Volten's sword far and deep as he circled the ramparts. Everywhere he went, the Exalts clamored and shouted his name, fighting with greater ferocity as if wishing to show off to him. Looking down, Oscar grimaced. A few of the accursed climbed up from the fiery chasm and latched onto the walls, skittering like spiders up on the barrier. Scratching and pounding, they screeched as if angered by being denied proper entrance for blood and death.

A roaming squad of Exalts led by Serit hurried to where the accursed were climbing and forced them back down. He met his brother-in-law's gaze and gave a knowing nod. Serit smiled and rushed the squad to another location that signaled climbing accursed. Oscar repeated the motions, focusing on the timing. He used thirty minutes fighting with his men at the gate, ten minutes to circle the walls, and twenty minutes to rest and restore Ein. Ten times he cycled the process, ten hours passing by.

Drenched in sweat, Oscar grunted in retreat and closed his eyes, expelling a dense amount of Ein that concentrated into a Duality body. He entered the new body and saw Demon take over his real body, an indifferent gaze overlooking the limbs as if getting adjusted. Oscar asked, "Been a while?"

"Indeed," Demon said, his voice cold as ever.

"Look after them," Oscar didn't wait for Demon to respond and put on a cloak. He pulled out Serit's map and followed the instructions to one of the empty huts. A part of the ground opened easily, exposing a tunnel. Oscar leaped down and traveled a straight path, noting it was probably deeper than the chasm. Further down, a stifling, dry heat filled the air, and the sounds of shrieking that diminished into nothing came from the ground above. Indeed, he was beneath the chasm.

Wiping off the nonexistent sweat, Oscar was impressed that Serit had the time to dig out this lengthy tunnel, having traversed it for thirty minutes already. But the smile faded as a rumbling drew closer, specks of dirt falling down until a pale hand burst from the ceiling. It retracted, and a pale eye widened through the gaping hole. 'Bastards.' Oscar cursed and sprinted faster, looking back. A part of the ceiling exploded in a burst of rubble and dust. An accursed rose from the pile and howled at his back, and soon another joined it, dropping down the fresh opening.

"They're drawn to life…." Oscar recalled the ancient texts describing how not even hiding underground worked since they burrowed deep and tracked the living. Halting, he patted the end of the tunnel and glanced around, seeing no further openings. It seemed he had to make his own. A group of accursed howled and closed the distance, behaving like ants in how they clung to the ceiling and walls with all four limbs. His Shattering Wave of blue primordial flames filled the tunnel, reducing them into ashes. Finding a live one, he pulled out its limbs and carried it on his back. He punched forward and dug deeper, keeping a quick pace and ignoring the endless shrieking in his ears. More accursed found him, clawing out of the ceiling, and he fought them off for what seemed like an eternity.

Eventually, the shrieking halted, and the load lifted from his back. The accursed crumbled apart into ashes. It must be daybreak. Oscar heaved a sigh of relief and punched up, caving into the ceiling. Slowly, he dug upward and smelt the fresh air of the outside world, giving one final burst of strength to dig himself out. A bright light swelled and surged down, blinding him for a moment. But then the fresh breeze greeted him. Oscar peeked his head out and witnessed the ten orbs shining in the blue sky.

"Six more hours." Oscar climbed out and carried on, his destination the dark tower looming overhead.

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