Crimson Ascension

Two daggers congealed in Altavir's hands as mist poured out of his body before manifesting into a ruby set of armor that covered him entirely. Tendrils of will-infused hexion stretched out from his body.

"This time you die, boy." He walked with weary steps as Arzhan and Paradius also joined from behind. "I won't underestimate you again."

"It does not surprise me that your masters came to the rescue, Low Blood, but to dare attack my house to this extent… death alone is an unfitting punishment for your lot." Paradius paced to the side, and Arzhan mirrored his movements until they surrounded Draven on three sides. "All to no avail, I'm afraid to say."

"An elderly man who looks old enough to fall dead at any moment and a girl whose piddling presence might as well belong to an unheightened," the Virien lord laughed as purple lightning crackled over his clothes.

Draven smiled, using the time to mend his soul.

Dark purple scales grew over Paradius's skin, black claws bursting from his fingertips. Two horns jutted out from his temples as if a crown made of black bone. When the lightning subsided, Lord Orenn looked like the unholy offspring of dragon and man.

"Abyss take me, he's a Median Eminence." Myra paled. "Not counting the other two Lesser Eminences. Truth be told, it's not looking good."

"Surrender to your death, and it will be painless." The Virien's voice slithered through sharp teeth with the rage of a wild beast.

Arzhan raised his greatsword, plunging it into the ground with a thunderous explosion. "Heed me!" he spoke, and two figures emerged from his body.

Specters? Draven narrowed his eyes.

Their green silhouettes were translucent, faces devoid of a will of their own, but their armor mimicked him, albeit on a smaller scale. The Specters reached out for the silver greatsword plunged into the stone, and each brought out a misty blade of their own.

Helvan closed his eyes as he sighed. "Myra, get Draven out of here. I will deal with them."

Altavir roared with laughter. "Big words coming from the dead—"

Helvan blurred out of sight. Steel crashed against the congealed hexion, and Altavir was sent flying, blood spurting from a wide gash on his neck.

Paradius roared, opening his mouth to release a torrent of golden fire streaming toward where Helvan had just been. "He is a Chroner!" he shouted in alarm. "Release the full weight of your Presence, before we all die. Arzhan, send the signal to Nospheo."

Arzhan stepped back and punched the air in front of him, opening his hand to grip thin air. He clenched his hand, and a thrashing humanoid appeared within his grasp, held by the throat. The giant man grunted and closed his fist, ending the struggle of the soul he held within his grasp.

"Done," Arzhan rasped.

Helvan's movements slowed after the three Empyreans focused their Presences on him, but the elderly man was still nothing but afterimages. A pulse spread from his body—a wave of darkness interlaced with air that dimmed the light shining down from the torches, as if it were an approaching night. The movements of the roaring armored Evoker became sluggish, slower, almost as if his body waded through mud.

"Paradius!" His rasping voice sounded distorted.

Helvan rushed at Arzhan, dodging a stream of golden fire that went his way, his green-edged sword in hand. Though the domain of darkness slowed the movement of the living, the Specters remained unaffected by it. One screeched an ear-piercing sound, pouncing at Helvan with its greatsword cleaving downward.

The old man sidestepped with ease, letting the blade fall a few inches to his side, and brought down his sword at the creature's neck. The Specter fell headless against the floor, its body dissipating into the air.

Arzhan stumbled, but regained his momentum an instant later. With a roar, the mist emanating from the felled being swirled in a torrent until it coalesced into chains that darted at Helvan's body.

A cloud of fire crashed against the ground, turning the stone red-hot. The remaining Specter burst out from the flames, its body intact, and brought its sword down at Helvan, who parried the incoming attack with his blade.

The stone beneath his feet shifted, becoming soft mud. Helvan's heartbeat with alarm, but it was too late. His feet sank into the stone, which turned solid soon after—courtesy of Paradius's transmutation. Chains of emerald glass sank into his body, tying him to the ground, as Arzhan brought the greatsword slashing at his waist.

Helvan closed his eyes.

A bronze shield manifested in Helvan's other hand, blocking the sword with a clang as he activated his Providence to retrieve the item from thin air. But Arzhan was stronger; one look at him was enough to know that. The force of the blow spun the shield from the old man's hand, while simultaneously deflecting the greatsword.

Draven had been waiting for this. Though his wounded soul was lethargic, a flicker of his will sent three blood spikes shooting at Arzhan from different directions. One pierced his left knee, but the others struck his armor without effect.

The giant roared in pain but ignored the attack. A green pair of translucent arms holding a sword emerged from his back, slashing at Helvan even as more blood spikes shot at him.

"No!" Myra shouted, her Presence reaching Arzhan too late.

There was no escape. The sword passed through Helvan, striking not his flesh but his soul. The old man dropped his arms, his body sagging. The sword, however, did not drop from his hand.

The giant froze for a second, constricted by the Art of Ruling. He gritted his teeth and roared, "A mere Reverence tries to bind me? Know your place!"

Myra fell to her knees, blood streaming from her eyes, her Art shattered.

Draven stretched his tendrils farther, consequences be damned. This was a fight for their survival; he needed to be ready.

"I've got you, old man. Your shielding technique is powerful; I couldn't even sense your soul." Arzhan lowered his sword, withdrawing his Presence. "You will take the place of the Specter you killed."

"Get away, Arzhan!" Altavir stumbled out of the broken wall, the deep cut on his neck still not fully closed. "He's alive!"

Helvan's sword blurred.

Arzhan's severed arm fell to the ground as he stumbled back, his other hand held defensively in front of him. The stone exploded as the Helvan disappeared from where he had just been, shaking off the chains, the suppression of two Empyreans reduced to one.

Hexion flowed out of Draven, congealing into as many blood spikes as he could form before shooting them at Arzhan. Die, you giant piece of shit! But a crimson dome formed around him, cutting off his control.

Draven turned to her, rage twisting his face at the interruption. "Myra, what are you doing—"

Golden flames engulfed him. The crimson barrier melted in an instant, as the flames burned Draven's flesh with the hunger of a sun. He redirected his will to form a dome of protection around them, but the stabs in his soul crippled his focus—his ability to hold it against the assault.

Something crashed against his body, and the overpowering heat disappeared.

"Myra, are you—" Draven coughed, blinking away the temporary blindness. "Alright?"

It was Helvan who answered. "Run, Draven."

The old man dropped to one knee, in front of Draven as the strength fled his body. The skin on his back was gone and so was the muscle—all that remained were blackened bones. He blocked Paradius's devastating attack at a crippling cost to himself.

"Like the abyss I'll—"

Draven looked down at the person who held him—shielded him from the fire—Myra, or what remained of her. It felt as if the ground had fallen from under his feet. Her hair was gone, and her skin turned coal.

She did not breathe. Her heartbeat was gone.

No! Draven urged his hexion through her skin, letting it permeate every corner of her body alongside his will. Where is it? He searched for her will, but found nothing. The only way to mend someone else was to link the wills of the mender and mended, but when it mattered the most, he could not find it.

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"Where is it? Helvan, I can't find her will." Draven pleaded. "Help me, dammit!"

Helvan sighed, looking over his shoulder before returning his vigilance to Paradius and a stumbling Altavir. The Evoker, Arzhan, was on his knees next to his remaining fading Specter, trying to stop the blood pouring from his severed limb.

"The dead have no will, Draven." His shoulders trembled, even his voice seemed fragile, defeated. "There's nothing you can do. There's nothing I can do."

"What is the matter, traitor?" Paradius burst into laughter. "Upset at the death of your masters? Be not in grief, the golden flames of the Amethyst Dragons grant a swift death. She can thank the Maker to have escaped the fate that awaits you."

Dead? That's not possible. How? No. This can't be real.

Myra's wounds did not look much graver than his. She should not be dead. If her heart had stopped, Draven just needed to start it again; she had done the same for him before. He wrapped hexion around her still heart, squeezing it rhythmically with care. Blood poured from her closed eyes, ears, and mouth.

"Enough!" Helvan slapped his hand away, uncharacteristic rage consuming his face.

The old man knelt and picked her up. Myra vanished from his arms, but Helvan still held them up, his gaze lost.

"The old bastard also has an Az'Tenri Circlet, my lord," Altavir said as he sealed the wound on Arzhan's arm. But the giant looked in no shape to stand after the blood loss. "Who are these people?"

It dawned on Draven then. Myra's dead. She died protecting me. She died because I'm useless. She died because of him. It was his fault.

"Good bounty indeed," Paradius walked closer, the scales on his body unscathed.

The foreign will inside his heart urged Draven to destroy them, to turn his rage and thirst for blood against them. Myra didn't die… they killed her. Murdered her. Consumed her. Paradius walked toward him with a reptilian smile on his face, mocking all the suffering Draven had been through.

Helvan took a step forward and fell to his knees, too wounded to stand.

Hexion surged out of Draven as his rage boiled, guided by the will within his heart. "Paradius!"

The rune under his eye burned, screamed, and he listened to its rage—to the ancient power that spread through his body as the hexion fueled it awaking.

Molten stone flowed in Draven's vessels instead of blood. The hexion that mended his soul and body sped up, glowing, rampaging with a power that was magnitudes greater than what he wielded just moments ago.

The tears in his soul closed. His missing arm sprouted from his shoulder. The destroyed eye reformed in its socket. Burnt skin peeled off from him, revealing the unblemished flesh underneath. As the rune under his eye turned red, so did his hair.

Power coursed through his veins. Rage consumed his thoughts. Darkness swallowed him whole.

***

When the Hemomorph stood up, mended in an instant, Paradius took a step back.

"Aberration!" Altavir snarled.

The combined Presences of three Eminences pressed down against the Hemomorph, cracking his Unbreakable Veil. But instead of falling to his knees, he released his Presence. The rune that burned into his skin made his will, already as vast as three Empyreans combined, become stronger. Berserk.

Altavir's knees bent. Paradius's purple scales whined. Arzhan's face lost all color.

The Hemomorph snarled like a maddened beast. Rather than be suppressed, he single-handedly strangled the strength of all Empyreans gathered in the Hierarchy Stand.

"It begins, Korvax," Helvan whispered. "I hope you were right."

He moved forward, every twist of his muscles carrying him further than they used to. One step became a leap as the hexion enforced him in ways he thought impossible. He wanted to beat the half-dragon to death with his own hands. Gorge in his blood.

The purple beast raised his arms to block his punch, but the Hemomorph was faster. One punch to the gut made the Virien Lord gasp. Another to his chin cracked the scales on his face, revealing the light purple blood that flowed underneath.

"Altavir!" Paradius rolled to his feet, yelling for help, but the Hemomorph did not relent.

He groaned as an arrow of congealed blood shot through his thigh, but the wound closed immediately after, not even making him stumble. Another one shot at his neck, but he ducked to the side with ease.

The scales around Paradius's throat shone brighter, his chest inflating as he took in a deep breath and roared, "Die!"

The Hemomorph was about to leap to the side, but the stone grabbed his feet. Golden flames engulfed him in pain. He lost sight, then regained it an instant later. The world went silent, then noise flooded back in.

When the flames stopped, the Hemomorph was still standing, though wounded beyond recognition. His burnt flesh knit itself together in a second, mending the damage as if it had never been there.

That's it? He thought. Weak!

The fire reduced the red-haired woman to a smoldering corpse—part of him even felt sad about it. She had been there ever since he had been born. Was that why he felt so enraged at the half-dragon? No, he concluded. He was angry because she was weak.

"By the abyss…" Paradius's reptilian eyes widened. He looked over his shoulder at the exit. "What… What are you? This is not the power a Reverence should have!"

Altavir howled, slicing his heels open with the Blood Armament. But the Hemomorph stood unfazed as the wound closed immediately after the blade departed his flesh. Weak. Prey. Nothing short of the giant armored man could threaten him.

It had been hard to keep the Unbreakable Veil standing for four days under constant assault. But this? It was easy.

Altavir jumped on his back, trying to tackle him to the ground. "Arzhan! What are you doing? Assist us!" Blood daggers fell on his neck. The bald man turned them up, stabbing him in the head, then the heart.

The Hemomorph grinned a malevolent smile as the hexion mended the damages effortlessly. The more time it passed, the stronger the rune burned under his eye, but he did not care. Consume. Prey. Kill. He only wanted to drench himself in the man's blood.

He would pay for making the red-haired woman die. The strong preyed on the weak, that was the way the world worked. But the half-dragon was not strong. He had no right to hunt under the Hemomorph's sight. He had no right to harm those he… cared about. They were his prey!

"Why…" Altavir brought the dagger down, trying to sever his head. "Won't…" He congealed new ones, stabbing the back of the Hemomorph's head. "Why. Won't. You. Die!"

The shadow of a thought formed in his will, but that was enough. Countless blood spheres shot from his back, piercing Altavir's body until even his face was unrecognizable. A crimson tail sprouted from his back, ending with a sharp spike at its tip. It blurred in the air, severing the bald man's head from his neck.

The purple beast snarled, swinging claws against his throat, ripping his flesh effortlessly, but the wound closed instantly. Another clawed hand burst his chest open, ripping off his heart and crushing it.

The Hemomorph did not even stumble. Instead, he caught the beast's arm, breaking it under his powerful grip. Weakling. Prey. He let the well of pain within himself flood over to the purple beast. Will pay!

Lord Orenn's eyes widened with terror. "Wait—"

He burst into a cloud of flames. His scales melted, sticking together. He gasped rather than screamed, the air burning in his lungs. The flames vanished a few moments later before his chest exploded alongside his heart. Numerous cuts appeared on his head, neck, and legs.

The Hemomorph snarled. The warmth of blood spraying on his face was a great feeling. He did not want to it to end, so he let his rampaging hexion surge within the beast's body, offering aid. Salvation.

The half-dragon welcomed the mending. It did not want to die. Not yet. This pleased the Hemomorph.

All the damage, all the blood, and wounds disappeared from the half-dragon, leaving a naked, trembling man in its place. "Spare me…" he begged. "No more, please. Maker's mercy. Please!" Tears trailed down his face.

Pain wracked the Hemomorph's body suddenly, stealing his attention away from his prey.

His skin broke like glass shattering under a mace, and the muscles beneath were torn to shreds. It lasted but a blink of an eye before his augmented hexion mended it. A moment later, it happened again, this time longer, stronger.

The whimpering, naked man fell from his grip but made no move to run.

The Hemomorph was confused. He knew this body better than anyone, better than the man he had been hiding from—Draven was his name. Just thinking about the lengths he had gone to hide himself from that hunter made him shiver.

Draven was no prey. He was better left slumbering.

Steam rose from the Hemomorph's skin as if the fire in his blood was evaporating all the water inside him. Something was not right. Wounds of this degree would have killed him if his heart did not mend them with expedience.

He had to end the half-dragon before that.

"Paradius Orenn." An emotionless voice echoed through the arena.

The hairs on the back of the Hemomorph's neck stood on end. He was in the presence of a true hunter.

"You have conspired to spread deceptions, lies woven from greed disguised as kindness against the Golden Firmament, He Who Sealed the Darkness, the Maker," a silver-skinned man entered the arena.

Runes covered his bare torso. His body was muscular. His face was confidence itself. His voice carried a final sentence.

Perfected, the Hemomorph recalled.

"Make way, in the name of the Maker, Protector of the Haven." the perfected threw a glance in his direction, noticing the rune beneath his eye. "The Traitor's Mark? Disgraceful."

"Do as he says, Draven." Helvan stood up, using his sword as a cane.

How dare this creature come and demand what was rightfully his? Paradius Orenn, the half-dragon man, killed the Hemomorph's prey. He did not belong to the shiny man.

The Hemomorph leveraged his will to suppress the Perfected. "Mine—"

The Perfected appeared in front of him, though he had been several paces away. Cold reason filled his eyes. "Impudence," he stated with an unconcerned tone.

That was the last thing the Hemomorph remembered before everything went black.