Behemoth [Primordial Titan Cultivation/LitRPG]

The golem was even worse than he had feared. At least it was no longer constantly screaming. Magical circles orbited the construct in an ever-shifting array of runes, along with sealing wards of imbued salt and silver.

Their full functions were beyond Cyril's ability to decipher, but based on the little he knew and the wavering in his spirit he felt while looking at them, they were intended for containment and suppression.

In the center of it all stood his failure. He could see why others had thought he had meant to create some sort of Spirit Sculpture, opposed to a functional body for an elder spirit to inhabit.

At first glance, it looked like some lunatic had attempted to make a statue in the form of a miniature Librarian Djinn-Three. Except, instead of a book, it had a poor mimicry of some hyper-dimensional shape in place of its head.

Cyril had, unsurprisingly, failed in his attempt to capture an accurate reflection of Epiphany's mind-bending geometries. The result was twisted, profane, scratching at the mind of anyone who laid eyes upon it as if gazing at a cursed object.

The golem's physical appearance was disconcerting, but to anyone with spiritual senses, it was obvious that far worse was wrong with it. It emanated a broken, shattered aura that made his own soul ache.

Simply standing in the same room with it and the sealing formation battered against his willpower. He forced the discomfort away and focused on the spiritual energies trapped within the golem.

A lightning storm of blue-green qi crackled within its head as Epiphany's disjointed consciousness raged. Discordant synapses of Knowledge lashed out at one another, not recognizing they were supposed to join together in harmony. Though the fact it had gathered into separate, distinct strands was promising in itself. It proved Epiphany's mind hadn't been completely shattered.

As the bundles of Knowledge qi warred with one another, they learned more about their supposed enemies. Their secrets, their purpose. How similar they were. Commonalities would bind them together and, in time, they may very well merge into a single consciousness, like the pieces of a puzzle fitting themselves together. Perhaps something resembling the original spirit would fill in the gaps.

At least, if Cyril's shoddy craftsmanship didn't get in the way.

He had imprinted as much as he could of Epiphany's existence onto his Mind Scrolls before implanting them as the construct's brain. A remarkable feat, no doubt made easier by the God of Knowledge working to save its own life as well. Mind Scroll was also one of his innate techniques, one he had practiced with the most throughout his life and felt comfortable with.

His attempt still hadn't been enough to capture the true nature of the spirit. Only a tiny fraction survived. After all, Mind Scroll was a basic technique he used to record runes or sections from books he particularly enjoyed.

Epiphany was, for all intents and purposes, the God of Knowledge, a refugee from the higher planes. He'd attempted to capture its consciousness with the same technique he used to record snippets of romance stories.

A remarkable feat? Cyril scoffed at himself.

This result was unacceptable.

He wasn't even sure where to begin fixing his mistakes.

"This is supposed to be a golem," he admitted.

Barnabas glanced at him side-eye; the third eye in the center of his forehead particularly narrowed. "Where's the joints?"

Anand's voice was a touch kinder but no less demanding. "Where's the physical core and channels?"

Both were valid complaints. Without the proper mold to guide it, qi leaked out from each clash of the Knowledge storm and drifted down into the golem's imperfect body. It became lost, trapped within flaws and cracks. In Cyril's defense, if its mind was intact, Epiphany wouldn't have required such a crude physical locus, but its fragmented spirit was unable to control itself.

On the other hand, he had no proper answer for Barnabas. Mobility was a key aspect that distinguished a golem from a mere sculpture. The darksteel figure could survive a blow from a Nascent Soul cultivator, but it wouldn't be dodging anything. A degree of autonomy was the ultimate mark of a proper golem. Independence was impossible without movement.

"I was in a hurry," Cyril said, feeling oddly defensive.

Part of him wanted to confide in his father, but the memory of that wire of oblivion continued to pierce through his thoughts. Thankfully, no obvious traces of it remained within the Crystal Chamber. A dissonance still lingered within the area, as if the ambient energies hesitated to fill the vacuum left behind.

Though Cyril may no longer fear it, there was no reason to tempt fate. Not with his father next to him. As brilliant as Anand was, his academic mind couldn't solve this sort of eldritch threat. Involving him at all was beginning to feel like an unacceptable risk. He regretted bringing his father along, even while finding solace in his presence.

Cyril folded his arms and considered how much he wanted to reveal. He could have distilled the information down into an Enlightenment, but given the results of his experiments with the technique, he was hesitant to fling it around when simple words could suffice.

"I made contact with a high-level spirit. One I may have awakened early from its secluded meditations. We discussed what must've been taboo information, and some unknown force basically…executed it with some manner of beam attack. I tried to capture what I could of the dying spirit within this form though the result is, certainly, less than ideal."

That seemed safe enough. The executioner hadn't involved itself until well into his conversation with Epiphany. If he assumed that this enemy was omnipotent and able to smite any heretics at will, then their fate was already sealed.

Am I sure this entity is my enemy in the first place? He had to pause to consider why he felt such utter conviction in opposing it.

The relationship between his soul and the Dominion of Knowledge imparted some measure of responsibility for the Library, and by extension Epiphany. That was part of it, at least. But he had no real desire to serve as a conscript in some grand cosmic war simply because his spirit root bore a random affinity. On the other hand, he did bear the responsibility for awakening Epiphany and meddling in such affairs in the first place.

Most of all, Epiphany had been attempting to warn him about an impending invasion. Though on the time scale of immortals, it could be millions of years away, it seemed that conflict was inevitable. When that day came, his realm needed to be prepared to defeat a force that had already triumphed over the absolute pinnacle of existence, reducing reality to its current limits.

Even if the executioner didn't directly represent whatever force had annihilated the higher dimensions, it served its interests. How could he not oppose such forces? Neutrality could not be permitted in the face of an extinction-level threat.

If it did occur aeons in the future, Cyril himself may be no more than a vague memory in Behemoth's mind, a footnote of history, but he hoped to at least leave some advantages for future generations to stand a chance.

To win, their realm needed to be united. Under Behemoth, as the ultimate tyrant? Behemoth and Phoenix? All of the Titans acting in harmony? The very thought of collaborating with Leviathan made his skin crawl, though he did have to admit the Wicked Serpent represented a necessary part of the cycle of life. But there was no simple peace to be had there.

Even if the ancient enmity between the Titans of Earth and Water could be forgotten, he couldn't help but think of his dead brother, Tyrin, vanishing inside a tidal wave of the Cerulean Guard's attacks.

Unity was a mantle they would have to win through conquest.

The vibrations emanating from his clenched fist snapped Cyril out of his reverie. Unsurprisingly, Anand stood in posture Cyril adopted as often as possible--distinguished thinker, rubbing his jaw in contemplation. To his credit, Anand did seem to grasp the implications behind Cyril's words. His cheek twitched as he remained carefully silent.

Barnabas, meanwhile, flew forward as if in a trance. He hovered in front of the golem, all of the sudden reverent.

"Is this…the soul of the Library itself?" The imp reached one of its hands out, hesitant, though had the sense to at least not physically touch the sculpture. "What is this? What have you done?"

There was a surprising amount of force behind the last words. Cyril found himself a bit taken aback. The mood had been somewhat lighthearted since he had regained consciousness, and he found like he still hadn't fully regained his footing.

He shifted his jaw side to side and took a deep breath. "I did what was necessary. Now, I'm going to work to repair this as much as possible, and I want you two to help. Please."

That seemed to mollify Barnabas a little, but Anand stepped forward.

"And the risk this will bring down on our heads?" he asked. "I don't know what happened here, but this is something beyond us."

"Nothing is beyond us." After a moment, Cyril sighed, releasing some of his pride along with it. "Elys and I are the Vessels of Titans. We're at the very least in a proxy war with another Titan and his empire. With this spirit, we stand to gain an ally of immeasurable value. We need every advantage we can get. Because currently, Elys is deep in Leviathan's territory and we're hiding underground. I'll take responsibility for any consequences that arise and handle them."

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"You'll handle them?" There was a challenge in his father's tone and expression."

Cyril nodded. "I'll handle them."

Anand took a step back, shaking his head. "Curse youth and curse fate. You've doomed us."

Cyril shrugged and knelt next to the golem. His ears popped upon entering the mystical formation, but he was otherwise unaffected; they were meant to keep the golem suppressed, not to prevent his entry. "We were already doomed as is. Let's get to work, old man."

And with that, they fell into their work. At first, their teamwork was awkward, each approaching the problem from a completely different angle. Anand was in the Fifth Sphere of Knowledge, with a high affinity that was the most likely source of Cyril's own innate connection to the Dominion.

Most of the academic's focus revolved around sorting and analyzing information. Countless experiments of varying importance had been crammed into his mind palace. In order to catalogue all of his knowledge, he had developed his mental techniques to the limit.

Of most interest was his proficiency with Identify, a supreme technique that Cyril hoped to develop for himself. While Identify seemed simple in theory, and it wasn't uncommon for a cultivator to gain it as a First or Second Sphere boon, its utility and the information it provided was considered priceless. Once it was acquired, evolving it to the next level was nearly impossible for anyone but the most dedicated mind cultivators. As such, it was better to acquire it as late as possible.

Its main purpose was to reveal information about the object of focus. For most people, it displayed orderly writing in much the same way as he analyzed his own soul. However, internal comprehension was entirely different from being able to look at an unknown, physical fixture of reality and receiving information regarding its nature and various uses.

The difference between a First and Fifth Sphere Identify was like comparing a child's musings to a primer on the topic. Anand had received it as his Fifth Sphere boon over a hundred years ago, and had halted much of his cultivation to focus on developing it to the utmost. As such, he was uniquely qualified to point out the worst aspects of the golem.

There were, unfortunately, quite a few.

They decided to start with the simplest fixes first. At Barnabas' insistence, Cyril carved joints into the golem, starting with the left knee. While the imp was far more talented at sculpting, the darksteel was far beyond his ability to manipulate. Barnabas couldn't leave a scratch on the spiritual metal, forcing him to guide Cyril through the process.

Sculpting required a delicate touch that Cyril didn't quite have. Growing stronger had also led to him growing larger, beginning to embody Behemoth like the celestial ifrit Lanazael had once warned him about. His hands were huge, his fingers unwieldy.

Barnabas simply stared at him and repeatedly demonstrated how to properly sculpt the joint until Cyril's work met the imp's high standards. High, but not impossible.

Despite Cyril's clumsy hands, he was able to fix his mistakes with a thought. Materializing a layer of darksteel tapped into his core reserves, but by the time he made another irredeemable mistake, he had regenerated enough qi to make up for it again.

Cyril alternated between using a thick chisel and direct qi manipulation on the golem's body. Hours passed as he forced himself to repeat one attempt after another until each alteration was perfect. His inverse focus boon, combined with the calm trance he found himself in, turned the endeavor into an extended meditation session.

Not that he minded. It was almost…blissful, he supposed.

Repetitive movements, with the most subtle adjustment each time, his flawed execution shifting ever closer to the ideal rhythm. One moment slipped into the next, timeless. Sometimes he slipped or applied too much force, causing a discordant note in his flow state, but soon enough would settle back into the proper rhythm.

It almost reminded him of cycling qi in order to form a technique. Lashing out with a burst of freeform Gravity qi was inefficient, even if it somewhat served its purpose. Cycling the proper flow of energy to cast Pressure would allow double the kinetic output for the same investment.

Likewise, a strike or adjustment with the proper angle and application of force counted for at least two awkward blows. A simple enough revelation, but it was a natural law present throughout many earthly endeavors.

Repeated practice of proper technique leads one closer to mastery. To perfection. To the pinnacle. Both aspects were required, working in harmony, to advance until one fulfilled their Destiny and actualized their true potential.

Repeated practice without technique instilled bad habits; proper technique without practice led to a greater chance of a misstep when execution truly mattered.

Work hard, become better, Cyril thought to himself. The mantra warded off much of the oppressive atmosphere within the room.

Without much of a basis of comparison, he wasn't sure if he had any real talent for sculpting. If not, he made up for it through stubbornness and Barnabas' surprisingly excellent advice. While the imp sometimes radiated disappointment at his performance, it seemed dedicated to restoring Epiphany. Its loyalty to the Library was a fundamental aspect of its being. As such, Cyril trusted that adding joints to the body was somehow the most efficient route despite his misgivings.

At least, Anand didn't seem to disagree either. He instead directed their focus to insidious flaws the other two had overlooked. Most of all, he focused on the golem as a whole. Faint shimmers of blue-green iridescence danced across his eyes as he analyzed it.

Once Cyril had completed the first knee, the limb began to move on its own. Swirls of the lost qi that had seeped into the golem's leg flowed into the center of the limb, forming a spiritual channel in place of its shin bones. As more qi accumulated, the movements became more vigorous. Sharp, rapid twitches, followed by jerks, followed by kicks that threatened to knock the entire golem off-balance.

The golem's surprising strength forced Cyril to lock the limb in place with both hands. He manifested a darksteel brace to immobilize it. That helped keep the leg straight, but it still continued to thrash until cracks began to spread throughout both it and the brace.

Sighing, Cyril decided he had to accelerate his timeline. He had hoped to learn some insight into the more mundane aspects of sculpting before relying on his mystical abilities. The few hours he had been able to indulge had led to some surprisingly excellent improvements. But his personal skills would have to be honed at a better time.

Exhaling slowly, Cyril clasped his hands together into a circular mudra.

The only time he had attempted to use Reality Sculptor, his Bloodline Talent, had been a frantic attempt to establish some control over the chaos during the golem's initial formation. More out of instinct than anything, he had manifested a variety of earthen constructs and flooded his qi into the surroundings to form a pseudo-domain.

It had somewhat helped, as far as he could tell. Given his poor insight into the boon and the fact he had been dealing with entities far beyond his level, it providing even the slightest effect was impressive.

This time, he focused on the shimmering patches of Knowledge qi reinforcing his mental channels--the manifestation of his Seed of Reality, he suspected. Rousing his core, he sent a controlled rush of energy to activate his Gravity domain. But instead of supplying it with the matching energy type, he activated the technique with his natural Earth qi.

A thunderclap of agony overwhelmed his senses for a moment. The migraine intensified as he refused to stop cycling the technique. Pressure built behind his eyes as the Earth qi backflowed, unable to circulate properly and activate the incongruent domain.

After what felt like an eternity, the Seed of Reality pulsed, and the tightness in his head receded. Instead of gravitic force descending upon the room, his consciousness burgeoned outward to fill the entirety of the Crystal Chamber. It reminded him of his spiritual vision, except it was no longer limited to only providing sensory information. This was a projection of his will, coloring the world around him.

Air thickened, solidified. The taste of soil coated his tongue, and his nose filled with the petrichor scent of the desert after rain. He almost felt as if he could grasp the natural laws around him--interact with them, debate with them--yet nothing happened when he attempted to flex his willpower.

A quick glance revealed a grimace on Anand's face, but the man seemed to be tolerating the changes well enough. The primary purpose of Reality Sculptor was to better align reality towards Cyril's ideal paradise. Meaning, for everyone without the specific makeup of his spirit, the neutral world grew more hostile.

Within seconds, Cyril's willpower plummeted. A weak voice in the back of his mind complained. Give up. This isn't worth it. Try again later.

Before he could succumb to the temptation, Cyril forced himself to circulate one more technique: Purify.

He had neglected the Cantrip outside of removing his own spiritual imperfections that had accumulated from over-exertion, stress, and supplementing his cultivation through alchemical means. Most of his other experiments had been performed on inanimate objects. After the disastrous result of throwing Enlightenment around and waking Epiphany, he hesitated for a moment.

Only a single moment. With his mental energy almost depleted, he didn't have a second to spare.

His mind the chisel, his soul the guide, Cyril went to work.

At first, the golem resisted the Earth qi flooding into its left leg. Then the subtle imperfections remaining within its knee smoothed over. The limb shifted, popped, until it reached the optimal configuration. Finally, it stopped kicking.

Once the first step was complete, the rest followed in a cascade. All of the advice Barnabas had provided helped shape his intent, infusing the Purification with the necessary insights to reshape the rest of the golem until it was perfect.

A fusillade of cracks and groans echoed throughout the room. The single spiritual channel running through the core of the golem's left leg grew and branched outward. Lost qi gathered, and streamers of energy escaped from the Knowledge storm in its head to reinforce the spreading network of channels.

The divine pebble Cyril had created to serve as the golem's core floated in the center of its hollow chest, inert. Once the expanding spiritual channel reached it, a blinding flash erupted. Afterimages of blue-green runes danced across Cyril's vision before fading away.

Gasping, Cyril fell to his knees. The world returned to normal as his Bloodline Talent collapsed. Willpower exhausted, he remained there for a while, arms splayed out before him bonelessly. After a few minutes, he managed to crack his eyes open. He blinked away a film of blood.

In the center of the room stood a…more complete golem, joints included. An unstable spiritual network fluctuated within the construct, empowered by the now-active divine pebble. Knowledge qi still crackled and flashed within its head, but most of the rampaging storm had been diverted to establish its spiritual channels.

"Epiphany?" he muttered.

The golem remained silent.

Despite the lack of response, Cyril knew that his corrections had mostly worked as intended. The spirit had retreated into itself for now. Or perhaps it was sleeping as it pieced its consciousness back together. Improving the physical vessel and calming the mental storm put it on the right path, though he had no doubt Epiphany remained a shell of its former self.

Barnabas giggled. "Well, you did miss a few spots."

Anand shook his head and started chuckling.

After a few seconds, Cyril joined them.

Barnabas coughed. "Seriously though."

Cyril snorted and opened his mouth to respond.

Then, the world rumbled. He jerked his head back toward the golem, but it remained still as a statue.

Shouting in the distance.

A frown twisting his lips, Cyril forced himself to his feet. "What--?"

Words in the divine language twisted themselves into existence within his mind. A message from Epiphany?

Not quite, he thought with rising horror.

It was a quest.

Repel the Corrupted Asura

An invader has pierced the dimensional veil, seeking to finish what its master began.

Protect the Vessel of Epiphany.

Survive.

Reward variable with performance.