Crimson Ascension

"One guard dies outside, and you thought I wouldn't notice?" Altavir walked toward Draven with a frown on his face. "I've always thought there was something odd about you, boy, but to be a traitorous spy? That one surprised even me. Eridol must have had a hand in this scheme."

"Altavir." Draven urged the hexion to stop mending his soul; there were more pressing issues requiring its assistance. "Move aside."

"Why don't you make me—"

Draven did not let him finish. He pointed a finger at Altavir's head, consequences be damned—to the abyss with being a murderer. A blood sphere shot out of his finger, bursting out of his flesh in a spray of blood.

Mist poured out of Altavir in an instant. It materialized in a solid dome of crimson that did not even crack under the assault. He looked at Draven, and this time there was genuine surprise in his eyes. "An Empyrean… Maker's mercy, how did Paradius let this happen?"

More. Draven needed more. Blood spheres shot out of his hand one after another. More! Stronger! The dome protecting Altavir cracked.

"Security has indeed become lax. I'll have to discuss this matter with Arzhan himself. None of this scandal would have happened if his lazy ass monitored the servants once in a while." The dome whined and cracked, pieces of it falling to the floor.

"I will get to the bottom of this," Altavir said, unbothered by the assault.

"Are you done, boy?" Altavir nodded to Draven. "If this is the best you can do, might as well surrender yourself right now and spare me the indignity of capturing you. It is clear to me you have some talent, but whoever trained an assassin like you… well, they forgot the training part altogether."

"Shut up!" Draven roared.

Why isn't it working? The blood spheres were powerful enough to pierce through rock. But all that power barely cracked Altavir's barrier. It was the difference between diligent, focused training and blindly treading through the unknown.

"Allow me to show you how a true Mender does battle." Blood mist seeped out from the palm of Altavir's hand, congealing into two curved daggers. "Don't die too soon."

He pounced at Draven with the speed of a body enhanced by hexion. Raising a hand, he stabbed at his face.

Draven took a step back, gorging in the power that also coursed through his body, and avoided the blow. The other dagger shot at him in a slash to his stomach. Altavir was fast, but Draven could avoid it.

He ducked back to avoid the slash, but his back hit something solid. What? The dagger sliced through his chest like a hot knife carving butter. Warmth permeated his body like a wriggling snake. He tried to grab hold of Altavir's arm, but the man retreated with a worried frown.

"Dangerous kid." Altavir stood still as a statue, knees bent and ready to attack. "Your heart beat with glee the moment I got close, which is odd. You are looking for your death or hiding something."

Draven's stomach clenched as he glanced over his shoulder to find a wall of crimson creation—Altavir's doing. The man could emit so far outside the purview of his body, retaining the intent imbued into his will with no effort.

No matter how Draven looked at the situation, it would not end well for him. Wounds riddled with both his body and soul, while he remained clueless about the true extent of Altavir's powers.

"If this is the best you can do," Draven stood up. The cut in his chest and stomach closed. His precious reserve of hexion dwindled close to emptiness. "You might as well let me through."

"Interesting." Altavir laughed. "Sadly, the battle is already over."

Something gripped Draven's body from the inside, strangling his muscles until he could not breathe. He tried to take a step, but nothing responded—only hexion was still under his command.

The Art of Ruling.

"I must confess, Draven, to mend a wound with so much proficiency is not something the average Mender can do. It either takes talent or raw power, unlike what can be found on the outskirts of Elysium." The bald man prattled on. "Maybe there is another option for you rather than death. Bind yourself in full servitude to House Orenn, and maybe Paradius will not behead you."

Good, you bastard. Buy me some more time. An idea formed in Draven's head. He imbued his remaining will into the hexion until it formed a small puddle. It was not enough to mend and attack, but it would suffice for a singular task.

"And become a glorified servant like you?" Draven needed Altavir to get closer. "I wonder, Altavir, that tail-wagging technique you have. Does it take talent or raw power to get? Yes, my lord. Of course, my lord. Did you break a nail, my lady? Let me fix it right up!"

The smile disappeared from Altavir's face. "Better than being questioned by an Evoker, boy. But you will learn that soon enough."

He walked toward Draven with the gait of someone who had already won. Hexion extended out of him in minuscule tendrils that connected to something behind and within Draven, feeding it with steady sustenance.

So that's how he emits so far from his body.

The moment Altavir touched him, he would be helpless—it meant an increase in the flow of hexion and will that suppressed him. Drained as he was, there would be no route to escape his fate. Draven suppressed his emotion and clamped the rhythm of his heart so it did not give him away.

Altavir took a step forward.

Draven roared with the entire force of his will, shattering Altavir's hold effortlessly. Myra said The Art of Ruling depended on the force of one's will, and if that was true, Draven would not lose. Hexion coursed through him in a flood, extinguishing the force that held him suppressed.

Falling to his knee, he rolled to the side and narrowly avoided a blood spike that pierced the ground. He raised his hand toward Altavir, a grin on his face.

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"That much will?" Altavir grunted at the backlash of his hold being broken. "What kind of monster are—"

The crimson dome surrounded him in an instant, but that only made Draven's smile deepen—Altavir was not his target, after all. He pointed to the light spheres illuminating the ceiling, and a bloodsphere shot out.

Darkness fell into the corridor. Draven was drained, both of will and hexion. He fell to his knees, weak, dizzy.

Altavir looked up, then from side to side. "Petty tricks. Now we are both blind, well done." His shield fell from him. "Your heartbeat's weak, boy. Let me guess, no hexion to aid the flow of strength through your body."

Draven crawled beside him, intent on not making a sound.

Altavir moved faster than he could react. A hand gripped Draven's neck with enough strength to break it. "Did you forget I can hear your blood?"

He pulled his hand back, a dagger congealing in his palm before plunging at Draven's leg. The bald man twisted it when no yell came. Draven grunted, which made Altavir hesitate for a moment, before turning into a stab to the gut.

"I got you now, Primus," he spat.

"No, Altavir." Draven smiled in the darkness. "I got you."

Dyad Vessel unleashed all its store pain upon the hand that held Draven by the throat. The grip on his neck loosened as a soul-piercing scream echoed in the unlit corridors, loud enough to deafen a miner.

Draven looked down at the unconscious man, blood pouring out of him from countless little holes in his body, from a deep stab in his gut and leg, from slashes in his chest. He left Altavir to fate as he walked deeper into the corridor.

Six heartbeats stood motionless in the tunnel ahead. Two of them beat with less power, faint but not unhealthy—his family. Hold on, Mom, Dan, I'm coming. Draven did not look back at the trail of blood he left.

The corridor stretched farther than he imagined, but the dense concentration of hexion in the air confirmed his direction. Whoever waited at the end knew of the battle that had just ensued, and they would most certainly be ready.

Draven was not—Dyad Vessel was emptier than his astra. His will was drained.

Blue light made him falter as the corridor opened into a vast room. Runes. The ceiling stretched far above, with a single pillar jutting down from it and connecting to a silver box in the form of a room.

A massive remnant, square, not much taller than two Sovran put together. Solidified, transparent hexion and metal formed its walls. But none of that mattered.

There were four altars inside, two of which held a child and a middle-aged woman. Dan! Mom! Draven wanted to bash himself against the wall, tear it apart, rip it to shreds. But he knew that would have been fruitless, for the men inside breathed with confidence. If it were possible to get in, at least one of them might have looked concerned.

With deadly stares, Paradius and Arzhan glared at Draven; they had sensed the earlier battle and resented his victory. Nerovian's eyes were about to pop out of their sockets as he stared in silence. Seraphina wrestled her surprise much better.

"Draven?" Nerovian blurted. "What happened—"

Paradius silenced him with a look.

"What have you done to Altavir?" The Virien lord snarled at Draven. "To think that the other houses would fall so low as to send an assassin… they will regret this day dearly."

"Nothing less than he deserved," Draven told him, buying time. The ritual had not started yet. He looked around for entrances or any sort of mechanisms to deactivate the hexion. No luck. He had to make them do it. "The same thing will happen to Lady Orenn if you don't hand over the ratlings."

Paradius froze. Nerovian and Seraphina's surprise turned to hatred.

"Lies," Arzhan rasped, unaffected by the bluff. "My specters protect her shadow with their very existence, and that is not the full extent of the measures put in place to keep the lady safe."

"What is the meaning of this, Draven?" Nerovian pointed at him. "Have you not embarrassed me enough?"

"Silence, boy!" Paradius punched the hexion wall. Smoke drifted out from his fist as the flesh burned in contact with the luminous barrier. "First you make a Low Blood your Primus and now he is revealed to be an assassin. Pah! It sounds even more ridiculous when I say it."

"Commence the ceremony, Arzhan! The punishment for this cretin can wait until my sons are Empyreans." Paradius walked to the altar where he held Draven's family and tightened their restraints. "It will all be over soon."

"No!" Draven rushed at the wall, at the metallic corners.

There must be some sort of device to deactivate the barrier. Where's the runic circle? It needs to be accessible. He palmed through the crevices, ignoring the glowing runes carved into the material. There must be something. Come on!

Nerovian and Seraphina removed their clothes and laid down on the altars.

Dammit! He threw a punch at the wall. His wrist cracked. The smell of burnt flesh invaded his nostrils, but Draven did not feel the pain.

"Pointless," Arzhan remarked with a shake of his head.

The room trembled as hexion roared. Paradius knelt next to a rune, shielding his eyes with a hand so the inscriptions did not dazzle him, and placed a cube of iridescent power onto it. Condensed, unimbued, pure hexion. The rune shone with renewed strength.

Wind blasted Draven's face as the venting mechanism expelled the impure hexion out of the room. Wait, that's it! He gazed up and sure enough, there was a venting duct wide enough for a man to walk crouched.

The runic circle. With a jump, he climbed onto it. It has to be there. Hidden from sight, but not inaccessible.

Paradius shouted after him, "Stop, you cretin! You will kill us all."

But Draven did not listen. He crawled inside the duct, following the currents of hexion until he found the runic circle that controlled the entire remnant. Four small holes, no bigger than the size of his fist, surrounded the complex runic structure. He saw the Heightening Chamber below, but remained clueless on how to stop it.

"Stop!" He punched the metal until his fists became bloody. "No! No. Fucking abyss!"

Through the holes, he saw the runes below activating one by one, flooding the chamber with the blue glow of forbidden power. He saw the terrified look on Dan's face and the confused frown on his mother's as she looked at him—a hint of recognition in her eyes.

"Aiden?" she whispered.

He also noticed the sweat that gathered on Paradius's forehead. The Virien Lord was worried. Afraid.

Draven smiled at the small circle of runes between the four venting outlets. These runes, whatever they meant, were important to the ritual below. A savage grin overcame his face as he raised his fist and brought it down. Again. Again. Until his bones broke. Until blood stained the blue glow.

"Stop!" Paradius shouted.

Draven raised both mangled hands in the air and brought them crashing down. The metal cracked, mis-aligning the inscription of one symbol. The blue glow below disappeared as the runes winked out of power.

Yes! Dan, Mom, I did it.

"Now I just need to—" Heat blasted Draven in the face, making him flinch.

All the runes in the room lit up with blinding vigor. The entire world trembled as the whistling of broken machinery rose to a crescendo. The blue light became darker, deeper. Angry. The noise dwindled for an instant, a fragment of a second long enough to stretch into hours, then it roared like a dying beast.

Draven's eyes met his mother's for a moment before the light consumed her and Dan in a cloud of smoke.

"No—"

Overwhelming heat exploded in his face, throwing his body up with the strength to shatter bone. Darkness crept into his vision.