Bathing in the pool of blood, which had grown voluminous enough to shatter those size limitations, was an odd, detaching feeling. It almost felt like he was dissociating from himself, but not entirely.
The Furthered Scales of Balance didn't let that happen. As the negative seeped into his mind in the form of sinister, bloody pythons, the mystic apparatus burned it with an immolating resplendence.
Yet it was painless to Kieran. Not the slightest hint of discomfort came from the actions of the mystic construct.
It did not allow anything to seep further than it had already encroached. Sacrosanct grounds rested beyond the stark border separating sanity and madness in Kieran's mind.
Those grounds could not be tainted.
'Right. Strengthen my mind and keep me sane and balanced so I can exact justice later on. A fitting punishment will be meted out. I made a promise to those that fell by my hand and blade.'
Many Voiceless had fallen to his longsword, cleaved in half, and pierced through, and some had been ripped to shred with his bare, mighty hands. In their final moments, their mouth spoke no words, but their eyes bled in sorrow and cried in anguish, hot tears streaking their immature features.
Kieran had not reacted to those emotions burning in their eyes, but they were moments captured and seared into his mind. They were unforgettable and grim, filling him with caustic dejection.
The more sane he became, the deeper those empathetic feelings — human emotions like guilt, regret, and remorse — ate away at him. The survivor's guilt was a virulent toxin poisoning his impassive facade.
It wasn't the first time he felt this way, though. The entire Trial had the young man questioning himself as he grappled with morally corruptive events.
The events had unraveled in such a way that just when he was coming to grips with what he had done, a new burden was introduced, setting back his process by an unknown amount.
However, it wasn't all bad.
'Right. It all led me up to here, allowing me to understand more about myself.'
For a long time, vengeance had commanded Kieran.
And it still did, truthfully.
Thoughts of avenging the fallen Voiceless by sabotaging the Flame somehow rolled through his mind in droves, compelling him to act on them. He didn't know whether his attempts were futile or if the Flame had been stopped in the end, but he didn't care.
Kieran was determined to be a thorny saboteur in Flame's side. A wrench in its machinations regardless of this Trial's ending.
He loathed the Flame, despised it so much that thoughts of killing it stopped passing through his mind. He desired things far worse than death for the Flame.
Firstly, it seemed immortal based on the experiences it had described. It had died… but it remained alive. It was some kind of undying entity, a concept that baffled Kieran tremendously.
Secondly, he had learned there were things the Flame feared besides death. Like… being controlled or imprisoned. It was a free spirit and wicked as they come. It did not appreciate being confined against its will.
However, Kieran was seeking to avenge others rather than have revenge for himself. Granted, his motives were not completely selfless. Remnants of hate for what the Flame did to him in the beginning lingered in his mind still.
That, too, was an experience seared into his mind. But… avenging others was a hopeful start to Kieran taming his vengeful tendencies.
Or, perhaps, it was the beginning of a new direction. After all, he was vengeful… not revengeful. His ire need not be solely his.
Nevertheless, as Kieran soaked in the blood, holding his breath for an absurdly long amount of time, he basked in the resentments of the fallen Voiceless.
Ironically, they were without a voice, but dissonant whispers passed by his ear like eerie breezes. What should have been chilling… felt right to Kieran.
'Though I did not chain, kidnap, or shove you into this fate, I survived, and you died. Thus, I am guilty of your deaths. And for that, I accept your resentments.'
The whispers grew louder, more dissonant, and carried astringent tones like wails of the anguished. The resentful were tremendously hateful. However, it wasn't more than Kieran could bear.
ραndαsnοvεl.cοm With his acceptance came the blood's reaction. The entire Pit of Culling was lit up with crimson radiance, seeming like someone had covered a bright lamp with a sanguine film.
The crimson light glowed inside the steel cage. Then, something strange occurred.
The blood flowed up the steel cage, filling large engravings with copious amounts of blood. Despite the messy sight, no blood spilled from the engraving's edges.
It traveled up the steel pillars that supported the cage of death and murder until it met its tapered and arched top. All the pillars were filled simultaneously, completely draining the blood from the Pit of Culling's red sands, but there were no bodies remaining after it was drained.
Kieran's body, along with the fallen Voiceless, had completely disappeared, sunken deep inside sands of boundless carnage.
Suddenly, the tips of the arched spires radiated a bloody light. Beams fired from crimson spheres in a successive pattern, weaving a complex design once it was done.
It was a giant Mark of the Maddened, roughly the size of the entire Pit, but its center lined up with where Kieran's body had sunken into the sand.
A deluge of blood rained down upon the Pit.
And this time, it was different for Kieran.
He felt pain. It punched, plowed, and pricked into his body. But it wasn't unbearable. Compared to the trauma he suffered from the Imprints and the anguish the Flame's rampage wrought, it was severely lacking.
Still, it changed him at a fundamental level in terms of physical might. It didn't accomplish much else for him. But the raw power he felt coursing through his veins, filling his thew and saturating his bones…
It was exhilarating and intoxicating — an invigorating rush!
The Pit of Culling rumbled as the bloody light filling the dark spires dimmed, receding back into its former austere conditions.
A geyser erupted skyward, threatening to blow the temple roof to bits, but it stopped short of its grand height. Seconds later, a tremor shook the amphitheater seats as the drained sands crashed against the Pit's flooring.
Stark naked, Kieran half-knelt, clutching his sword with deep, ragged breaths. They sounded strangely like the alto growls of a feral beast or perhaps maybe the rumbling of a thunderstorm in his chest.
Both left a deep impression on the Order of War and Flame.
Cardinal Weiss passionately ripped the steel cage open like scrap metal, ignoring its useless durability.
Standing up, Kieran looked different, like he contained fiendish power, giving him a slightly sinister quality. But more than that, he could feel his connection to his rightful power.
Blood surged across his longsword, changing its shape until it was sharper, more resilient, and a crimson color. It had become a weapon befitting a Condemned Fiend.
More than that, it was absorbing his energy without him supplying it. A name popped into his mind as he stared at it.
'The Great Sword… Heartsbane.'
It currently held no meaning to him, but the sound of it alone gave Kieran pause, meaning it was likely something he should remember. That name was one of those things during the Trial that fell under his "compelling" list.
Now that he wielded power befitting the title of the Condemned Fiend, Cardinal Weiss approached Kieran as an equal.
"Red Welcome, One Who Bathes In Blood."
Cardinal Weiss extended his hand, which was met with a similarly firm and monstrous grip. He smiled at Kieran, a polite yet fanatic grin.
A silent war was waged as each increased their grip strength.
Then, Cardinal Weiss laughed loudly.
"The Risen Fiend welcomes the Condemned Fiend to the Flame's honor. However, there are many rites left for you to participate in. The first of which would be giving you a name that only you may bear…"
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