Behemoth [Primordial Titan Cultivation/LitRPG]

A quest.

Cyril read the words over and over again, his intense focus dilating time until the world around him to a crawl.

Nothing he had been involved in had warranted the creation of such a mythical event until now. Defeating enemies above his level of cultivation, participating in a large-scale conflict, manifesting Behemoth's Hand to turn the tides of the battle--all of these were impressive feats, qualifying him to be considered a peak elite among his generation.

Yet none of that was particularly unique or special, all told. He wasn't even the first human to become the Vessel of a Titan. Depending on the current state of Ziz, the Titan of Wind and Void, he may very well be the last. Promising warriors throughout history had more than rivaled his martial achievements. Thousands of engagements on the scale of the Wandering Phoenix Tribe defeating Leviathan's forces had taken place across the world in the past.

For a quest to be offered, the cosmos themselves needed to pay attention.

In a sense, quests were no different than a soul contract or oath that, once accepted, bound the participants to fulfill the terms of the agreement. What made a quest different was that the offering party was reality itself.

An anomalous situation had arisen that the laws and forces governing the material plane were insufficient to control, and so it sought champions capable of addressing the problem. Some emergent interaction of the Dominions of Knowledge, Order, and countless other concepts enabled the possibility to manifest. At least, that was the reigning academic theory.

Either way, the issuance of a quest was a momentous occasion. Details regarding only a few past quests had been leaked in the public record. All of them were linked to mysterious events and had produced some of the greatest marvels to ever exist.

The creation of the moon itself was said to be the reward for a quest, though no consensus had ever been reached regarding the purpose behind the celestial body's sudden appearance. Still, there was no doubt it was a relic of significant influence, particularly for water and celestial cultivators.

Even as Cyril's greed flared up, he clenched his fists. Quest or not, he would have been forced to act regardless. This Corrupted Asura was an existential threat to him and his people.

He'd expected some consequence to aiding Epiphany, but had told himself it was necessary. That he could handle the inevitable reaction if he continued down this path.

From his dilated perspective, the screams coming from outside dragged on forever. Except I'm not the only one that has to suffer the consequences.

Cyril glanced at his father. Anand's eyes were wide with concern, but he displayed none of the shock he would have shown if he had been issued the quest as well. Only those deemed capable of withstanding the threat would be chosen..

Does that mean other champions will be called here? Elys? Leviathan?

He would have to deal with one problem at a time.

Two seconds passed. Then, the entire building rumbled.

A shockwave of strange energy almost blasted Cyril off his feet. He managed to grab his father in time and infused himself with Mass qi, anchoring them both in place. The darksteel golem toppled over, limbs twitching, the raging qi within its head not yet calm enough for it to gain any semblance of self-control.

Mind racing, Cyril considered his options. Time dilated even more, motes of dust drifting through the air as slow as stars across the night sky.

His eyes shifted toward the darksteel golem. No doubt it was the asura's target. And every moment that it remained in the center of his tribe meant another moment that his people were in danger.

His Magmatic Heart thudded, flooding his body and channels with volcanic strength; golden aura tinged with orange leaked from his pores. Mass qi flooded his body as Cyril Reinforced himself. Density settled into every inch of his body. His tendons creaked and his bones groaned until his Self-Forming Paragon constitution began to adapt.

In the back of his mind, he could sense Behemoth's looming presence. Qi refilled his core as fast as he was able to use it. Its full, undivided attention was on him, much like when

he had engaged Leviathan's forces.

A vague, complex emotion emanated from the Titan through their bond. Hints of dread, anger, disappointment, resolve, and so much more that he couldn't begin to understand. But there was no fear, as always.

With a flick of his wrist, casks of spirit wine and various elixirs spilled from Cyril's spatial ring. Some of the flasks shattered against the ground, releasing a colorful riot of spiritual vapors. He grasped one of the golem's twitching legs and deposited it into the emptied space. Epiphany's broken will resisted for a moment before it allowed itself to vanish into his storage.

"Cyril!" Anand called, reaching for him.

"I told you, I'll handle this. Stay here."

Before his father could respond, or any doubts could settle in, Cyril charged forward. He burst out of the Crystal Chamber and onto the second floor.

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The Library shuddered once more. Shelves toppled. The chaos activated some of the sound tablets, and a discordant symphony of voices sang and lectured and philosophized all at once in the background.

With no time to waste, he leapt from the second-floor balcony. The floor shattered beneath his feet as he landed next to the entrance.

After a deep breath, he shoved the doors open.

Outside was chaos. Cyril caught the briefest glimpse of a wide crescent of oblivion flying directly toward him at neck-level. It splashed against an invisible barrier around the Library that extended out around ten paces from the building. Blue-green cracks flared into existence from the impact. Another ephemeral shockwave swept over Cyril, forcing him back a half-step.

As expected, the Asura was attacking the Library itself. Coming for him and Epiphany. Judging from the lingering cracks, the barrier wouldn't last forever. Still, the fact it held on for several blows despite the Library's drained state was promising. This couldn't be the entity responsible for the wire of oblivion, or, if it was, entering Cyril's world had suppressed its power to a reasonable level.

The asura itself hovered in the middle of the courtyard, around thirty paces away. Its presence demanded his attention, more real than real. Humanoid, though twice Cyril's height, formed from pure oblivion. His eyes blurred as he looked upon it; it seemed to be almost superimposed over the world, like a person standing in front of a painting.

Its skull terminated slightly below the nostrils, leaving a mandible of jagged obsidian teeth. Within the cavity of its exposed cranium nestled a mirrored orb that reflected a twisted, distorted world; Cyril could see himself within it, broken and disjointed, his mouth stuck in a false scream. Its core? A potential weak point.

Three pairs of arms sprouted from its torso, each grasping a different weapon: a spear wrought from starlight; a trident crackling with destruction; a morningstar that resonated with his Dominion of Gravity; a whip of sinuous shadow; a scimitar of scarred metal; and a mace of gleaming diamond.

Guardsmen in orange robes converged upon the asura from all directions. It lashed out with its weapons--simple movements, quick but not too quick to follow, with no traces of qi beyond the energy signatures of the weapons themselves.

All around the asura, buildings were disassembled into chunks and cultivators burst into gore. The barrier around the Library flickered, barely holding on. Though the asura seemed to have simply struck the air around it with its weapons, their range extended in all directions, eviscerating and pummeling everything within a fifty-pace radius. Ripples and jagged geometric lines flickered across Cyril's vision, warping the horrible sight into a shattered mosaic.

Though his Magmatic Heart pounded in rage at the death of his tribesmen, his mind remained cool and analytical. He knew what he was dealing with. His spatial training with Soren and his eyes absorbing some of Epiphany's dimensional energies had helped prepare him for this moment.

The ripples were familiar distortions of spatial qi, while the intersecting geometric lines were something else entirely.

The truth clicked into place: dimensional manipulation. At least some of the asura's attacks traveled along trajectories that were incomprehensible to most people within his reality. If Cyril's world was a painting, then the asura was an outside entity interacting with it--slicing and poking holes across the scene in a way that the people within couldn't even conceive of.

No matter how suppressed its power was, no one could stand up to the asura's reality-piercing technique. Except maybe Cyril and the few spatial cultivators around, such as Soren.

"Mom," he muttered under his breath. The distortion in his vision settled, his vision piercing back together. "Don't leave your secluded meditation again. I know you're thinking about it, even if it cripples your cultivation forever. Sorry, but I don't think you can even influence its mind. Leave this to your favorite son."

Cyril's voice cracked at the end of his poor joke.

High above, Ragnar the dragon spirit flared with light. Its wings flapped, preparing to launch it at the intruder. Then, a jagged line of strange color fractured across Cyril's vision; a moment later, Ragnar's left wing was bisected. It began to spiral downward, roaring in dismay.

Other cultivators began to converge on the location, the surroundings roiling with their barely-suppressed qi. On the rooftops, hovering above on flying weapons. Loras stood atop one of the buildings in his ivory form, a song of inspiration and courage ringing out from his flute. A flicker of pale foxfire in the distance told him Lanaya was on her way. No doubt his other family members were close behind.

One of the adjacent buildings collapsed in on itself. A mortal residential area. Cyril forced himself to retract his spiritual senses, but not before he sensed the broken, mangled civilians within. Some of them still lived, emitting feeble vibrations from within the pile of debris.

No more, he thought.

Techniques rained down on the asura. Flames washed over the courtyard. The ground surged upward to encase it within a prison. Ethereal weapons pierced through the earthen shell. Waves of dark qi crashed into it. More esoteric abilities competed to turn the area into a death zone of conflicting forces.

The backlash washed over Cyril like a tidal wave even through the Library's barrier. Strands of his hair burnt and curled, though his flame resistance prevented him from blazing like a torch.

The first wave of attacks died off, leaving behind a glowing crater in place of the courtyard. No sign of the asura within.

A series of dimensional fractures appeared in the corner of his eye, directly above Loras' location. From it emerged the trident of destruction, spearing downward like a lightning strike. The building imploded. Tremors rocked the world as the trident punched through the ground and tunneled deep into the earth--carrying Loras' skewered form down into the depths, based on the vibrations coming from Cyril's seismic sense.

Shouting, Cyril summoned the Epiphany golem. It materialized next to him, barely reaching his waist.

Immediately, the world in front of Cyril fractured and the asura's upper body emerged from the cracks. Streaks of color had spread across its figure--the red-orange of flames, earthen hues, even more mundane darkness interspersed within the absolute black of oblivion. Scars from some of the techniques that landed?

Cyril could only spare a moment of thought. The asura's weapons lashed out, shattering the barrier around the Library.

Before the asura could reach him, Cyril grabbed the golem and stomped his foot.

The ground Transmuted into base sand, swallowing the three figures. Cyril sent a strand of his Earth qi to penetrate deep below him; wherever it struck, he projected his will, continuing to transmute the surrounding stone in the path of his descent. Almost like a wyrm tunneling downward. Together they plummeted, buried within a waterfall of sand.

Away from Beljeza, he and anyone who dared follow would be able to completely let loose. And if Cyril did die and Behemoth manifested, at least his entire tribe wouldn't be crushed beneath the Titan's bulk.

This reward better be good.