The Exalt [Cultivation Fantasy]

They were making good progress. Auren thought so as he drew a circle on the face of a statue in his blood. He lost count of the number of marks he had planted in the expanse of this incredible dark tower, its structure surpassing any conventional knowledge of formations. The denser conduits funneled immense Ein upward through the tubes, nigh unbreakable. But the Ein also permeated deep in the structure of the dark tower itself. Staring at the crater in the center of the hall, Auren surmised a battle had occurred, judging from the few corpses sprawled around, but the physical damages mattered little for the flow of Ein.

People of the past assumed that the dark tower was built first, and then the Ein began to flow. That was wrong. Auren concluded that the more accurate description was that the Caerulumen built it according to the existing matrix of Ein centered in this location. The conduits and tubes were the only additions created for shifting and concentrating that matrix, the wellspring of the impossibly large collection of Ein, into something more. He looked up. It all flowed upward. For what he did not know, but that place had what he needed for the Lord's plan to succeed.

"Done?" Gloria knocked on his head lightly, stopping his rampant thoughts.

"Yes, young…Gloria." He adjusted upon seeing her brow raise in anger. Earlier, she had ordered him to call her and the young…Renn by name. They were his Lord's adopted children, but he couldn't ignore their request either. He gripped his pale hand, the touch and sensation lost on it.

"Then, let's not linger here. Something terrifying happened here…." Renn was studying the corpses, grimacing. He pointed at them and explained, "There's only a crater and nothing else. Yet all five of them died seemingly at the same time while crying. Whoever did it also didn't loot the corpses." He tossed a space pocket in the air and showed four more.

Auren agreed and swiped his hand, hiding the mark. Renn led from the front, Auren took the middle, and Gloria stayed in the back. With great luck, they had evaded any further trouble since the encounters with Lelith and the hulking monstrosity fighting Kragg. Thinking of Santen and Kragg, who had Restel in his shadow, Auren feared the worst, more for Santen, who had stayed behind to stall Lelith. While he couldn't believe they might lose, their opponents were too powerful. Despite a good hour passing, none of them caught up. Part of him hoped they had gotten lost, but he knew they would have found them by now.

'Focus!' Auren slapped his cheek, feeling the sharp pain cut his thoughts. A chance to flip the board rested in his hands, and he needed to seize it. The next room, past the ascending stairs, was locked behind a set of doors. Renn turned back and nodded before kicking the door open. A dense fog spilled forth, their clothes damp and sticking to their bodies. As they entered, mindful of their surroundings, Auren looked down and tapped his foot on the calm surface of the water, forming rippling at the ends of his toes. 'What's the purpose of having so many environments?' His inquisitive mind required an answer.

Renn's arm halted him and Gloria, shivering as the dark sword shook, sounding like the clattering of teeth. The fog split, and a man emerged, garbed in simple white pants and lacking any other articles of clothing, leaving his upper half bare and revealing skin marred by scars. His hair was black as if woven by night, and the eyes gleamed a sharp yellow, his identity well known to Auren, who knew the faces of all the prominent fighters of the other factions. Lysander Taradun, the Grade Nine, the Shattered Scion, the greatest in all of Shattirma, spared him one glance. And Auren trembled, fear clenching his lungs as a deep wheeze pushed out of his mouth.

"Three little lambs wandering, lost from the herd and left to fend for themselves. I wonder why you climb? So far from safety." Lysander strode forward, and in the blink of an eye, no faster, the fog dispersed, pushed away by his presence. The one potential cover was gone, and the lake provided little escape down in its depths of clarity, still clear to the naked eye. Renn signaled with his fingers, and Auren and Gloria shifted their feet, ready to run and close the door. The Shattered Scion laughed, the tremors of his voice shaking their knees. "Running is a good choice, but why do your eyes not show surrender? No, you run because there is a purpose you must reach, one you must accomplish without falling here."

"The eyes never lie. Funny, in that hallway down those stairs, you should have found five corpses. They ran, but their eyes had long since given up. They lack the purity and determination like yours." Lysander grinned and applauded. "Great. Great. Your father's eyes were the same, deadset on the path of his choice."

"You saw my Dad?!" Gloria shivered behind Auren, clearly afraid for her father, his Lord.

"Ah, don't worry, girl. He and I merely passed each other and went our separate ways." Lysander stared at Renn and then to Auren. "Not bad. Your father is headed down, but you're all seeking the climb to the peak. Rather than seek for his protection, you all willingly throw yourselves out there for a purpose."

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"If our demeanor is to your pleasing, can we pass by and keep climbing?" Auren stepped forward and crossed his arms, forcing a show of confidence. But his feet couldn't calm and splashed on the surface of the waters.

Lysander let out another round of laughter, shaking the room itself as the waves kicked up into a torrent. "What a bold ask. Though, I don't dislike that. Far better than the idiots who prattle on with no teeth to their words. I shall guard you."

"Excuse me?" Auren was confused, as were Renn and Gloria, who gaped their mouths open.

"I said, I shall guard you. Our goals are aligned, and I'm interested in the plan your father has in store." Lysander strode forward and vanished. Auren snapped his head back and widened his eyes in shock at Lysander behind them. From afar, the Shattered Scion's presence was terrifying, but up close, Auren dared not to breathe–lest a sound or foul breath draw this monster's ire. There was no escape; it never existed from the start when they entered this lake room. Lysander crossed his arms and leaned his face forward. "Lead the way, young ones."

"W-wait!" Auren extended his palm and gulped, falling silent before his voice found him. "Please give me a drop of your blood."

"My blood?" Lysander lost his smile and glared at Auren, the impending sensation of death already chilling his heart. Renn and Gloria pushed against the pressure and lifted their sword and staff, standing firm amid the looming death before them. Auren couldn't help but believe they were incredible enough to oppose this monster, but standing was all they could do. Their weapons clattered in their grips as their bodies tensed, frozen stiff. Suddenly, the deadly pressure lifted, and Auren and the others gasped for air. Lysander's clear voice cut in. "Great. Great. Here. My blood."

A droplet of scarlet blood floated in the air, heading toward Auren. He took out a small clay bottle and collected the blood, staring at Lysander in confusion. Did the man not fear a nefarious use for the blood? A curse? His death? No. Auren glanced at Lysander's confident look and realized the Shattered Scion was above tricks and schemes. The strong belief that he would emerge victorious no matter the circumstances was the core of this man. Auren felt in awe and bowed deeply out of respect for the man's conviction. Perhaps they had just gained an incredible ally, one that could complete the Lord's victory.

"Lead the way, you little Exalts." Lysander smiled widely. "There's one other man I must meet, and he's surely waiting at the top."

…….

Not a statue remained in the once grand halls, now bare, and everything was either shredded into dust or burned into ashes. Erden roared in his human form, clad in dense sapphire armor and wreathed in rainbow flames. A few of the flames jetted from the ends of his shorter antlers, eyes, and joints. He had transformed to avoid being a larger target and for more flexibility in movements since Lelith's onslaught showed no signs of ceasing–nay, it was intensifying. She moved faster than his eyes and Prinstyct could follow but filled the area in the trails of her scythes' sharp path.

His expanding rainbow flames and the rising heat, somehow torn by her relentless assault in the air as if sharp winds sliced and brushed them aside, lacked the foundation to expand past a few inches from his skin. The flood of her endless slashes put out his fire. Oscar fought on, bashing his shield on every one of her strikes he could catch, the rest taken care of by Demon and Erden. He landed a kick, blocked by her pommel, and stepped in, gnawing on her arm with a platinum dragon wreathed in rainbow flames.

Nothing worked. Oscar glared at the wound leaking green blood on her neck and wondered how Santen managed to wound her. Out of every one of the freed experiments, Santen carried the strangest power, but it shouldn't have cracked her defenses. Yet it did—the proof lay before him. Due to that, he had no time for grief, no time for mourning. The wound was Santen's greatest achievement, and he needed to celebrate it and praise the life of a man who wished to die well. And die well, he did. His death was not meaningless. To falter here was an insult to the man who gave his life for a purpose.

Lelith flew back, pushed away by his drill filled with his grief and praise of Santen. Oscar, Demon, and Erden rushed in while Serit muddied the battle with shadows that flickered in and out of sight, constantly cut down by her casual swings. Avila fired a single arrow, light crackling on its trail. To his horror, Lelith's lips lifted for an incredibly minute curl, so faint one could still say it was flat. But on her stale, indifferent face, it resembled a maniacal smile. Her wings and scythe blurred. Demon barely blocked it, Erden was flung away and caved in the ground, and Oscar heard his shield cry in a final crack, shattering apart.

"Oscar!" Serit yelled, his shout distorted and slowed amid Oscar's mind and instincts stretching this moment out to the furthest extent, attempting to figure out a way or possibility of avoiding it.

The pieces of his shield left his arm bare and floated, dropping like falling leaves in the fall. His mind processed every interaction, every possibility. Demon was too far, Erden was still recovering from being slammed to the ground, and Avila's arrows would not reach in time to deflect the incoming blow. Lelith's scythe brushed past his reaching hand, light traveling and glinting along its edge as his reflection became unveiled on the clean blade. Gritting his teeth, Oscar looked at Avril one last time, wanting to speak but unable to do so in this long second. He felt a chill pierce his chest.

The scythe dug into his ribs and pierced through, and he could tell it went all the way through, protruding out of his back. A flood of blood gushed from his chest. So, too, did his mind as the dam broke and the memories of blood poured out. 'Avril.'

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