Crimson Ascension

The Ruler of Shadows looked at the dead Empyrean held in his blood-stained claws for a moment before tossing it aside like garbage, holding little regard for the life it had taken. Morgan's body fell next to the pile of Empyrean remains, reduced to nothing more than a new set of trophies and waste.

A guttural scream wrung itself out of Orun's throat as he shot forward, eyes red, a bestial snarl on his rugged face. The man was past the point of thinking logically—he saw only the creature that slayed Morgan, nothing else.

The hexbeast matched his shout with an ear-piercing howl, enveloping itself in shadows, using them to propel itself forward with unnatural grace. It sent a shower of sharp spikes paving the way forward, but the attack stopped dead as a thick wall of congealed blood formed in front of the charging Empyrean.

Come on, Orun. You can last a few seconds, right? Draven ran in the opposite direction of the fight, arriving next to Helvan and Corvanis with the silent steps of a thief. One glance at the raven-haired Sovran stole his breath. Runes, complex beyond his comprehension, were painted on his skin by the hands of a masterful artist.

At the center of his chest, one symbol shone more distinctly than any other. Weakening. He understood its function even though the knowledge of how to implement it was murkier than the shadows surrounding the howling hexbeast.

"You're being suppressed," Draven said. "All this time. It's complex. Abyss take me, I don't understand how this can even work, but it's weakening you. Somehow. How do I deactivate it?"

Helvan chuckled, his face twisting with pain. "Do you think the Maker is amateurish enough to allow his art to be bypassed by the likes of you, a few decades-old boy with no proper knowledge of the runes? Do not waste your time, Draven."

The bitterness in Helvan's tone, the hatred in his eyes, were unlike the collected behavior he usually displayed—the proud strength of a Chroner, of an Archon, strangled until nothing but wisps remained. However, his words were the pure truth. The more Draven inspected the arrangement of runes, the clearer it became that it was beyond him.

Draven raised a hand to mend him, but Helvan batted it aside.

"I used too much hexion, so this is the price I must pay," Helvan said through gritted teeth. "Mending me will only make matters worse. Help Corvanis, he withstood more than I."

Draven placed a hand on the man's chest, connecting his will to Corvanis's in a matter of moments. He inspected the Transmuter's body, locating the major wounds that threatened his life, and commanded the refined liquid inside his reserve to pour into his flesh.

Mend!

His order brooked no disagreement. No matter the depths of the wound, it would have no choice but to obey the will of an Archon. Bones stitched together, reformed, and grew until not even scars remained. A pierced lung, filled with blood, devoid of air, inflated and healed. The blood seeping out of Corvanis's missing arm stopped flowing, sealing the wound.

The Sovran's face twitched and regained color, but he remained unconscious. Draven looked at the missing limb—Corvanis's dominant hand. It had likely been the hand used to behead his father, so leaving it missing would have been poetic justice.

Nothing is ever black and white. You've taught me much, Corvanis. Hatred. Impotence. Forgiveness. One year ago, I'd have given anything to be the one to chop off that arm, but now…

Draven shook his head and mustered his will, leveraging his entire reserve on the task he was about to accomplish. Most deemed it impossible to mend a missing limb, either due to talent or lack of hexion. He knew something different. No wounds escaped his authority.

"Mend," he uttered.

His voice beckoned the blood in the cave, made it tremble in subservience. A chunk of Draven's reserve vanished in an instant, flowing into Corvanis like a ravenous tide of blood. It flooded his wound, drenched it in renovating power. Bone sprouted from his shoulder, followed by crawling flesh and tendons, until pale white skin emerged.

"Take him and go, Helvan." Draven stood, the task completed. "Take Finn and Elevalein with you. I'll hold the hexbeast off."

"Absolutely not!" Helvan protested, trying to stand up. "You're no match for it. Surely that is clear by now. This is not the place we die, Draven." He uttered the words with a confidence he shouldn't have. "None of us. Even if Korvax sent us here for a reason—"

"You're right. It's a lot stronger than me. The current me." Draven removed the red mask covering his face.

"Listen to me! That runic circuit is an incomplete mockery of a remnant." Helvan gripped his arm with a strength that might once have broken it. Now, it couldn't budge him. "I prevented your death once, but I have no means to do it once more."

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Draven effortlessly broke free from the Chroner's hold. "I won't stand by and watch anymore, Helvan."

The Ruler of Shadows batted aside a slash aimed at his leg with one clawed finger, sending a beam of shadow bursting forward like a spear. Orun danced to the side, raising the blood from the ground, molding it into a solid crimson construct that bound the hexbeast's legs to the ground.

A spike of blood formed above the hexbeast, congealing in an instant before shooting at the creature's neck. It struck true, but the wound was shallow—perhaps a few fingers deep. Draven gritted his teeth at the sight.

"Assist me, boy!" Orun jumped back, strings of blood attaching to his back and pulling him away from the beast. "Suppress it with your presence. If it uses that domain again, we're doomed."

"Pathetic." The Ruler broke free with a chuckle. "Haven't you come to hunt me? Here I am!"

Draven followed Orun's warnings, unfolding his Presence into the beast, forming an ethereal sphere around its influence. The beast stumbled, yellow eyes once filled with mockery and cruelty, widening with alarm.

He commanded the spilled blood all around the room to flow in his direction. With another thought, the Hemomorph's Mantle congealed around his arms and limbs. He could not afford to hold back; he had to strike the Ruler of Shadows dead before it could react.

The Ruler had its back to him. It was his only chance.

Blood hovered on top of his head in a sphere shape, rotating, compressing, whining with a dangerous tune. A row of shadow spikes burst from the ground, aiming for Draven's leg, but he did not stop running. The darkness pierced clean through the Hemomorph's Mantle with minute resistance, taking him in the knee.

Draven broke the construct with a hexion-infused punch, letting liquid from his reserve mend the damage in the blink of an eye. Another attack took him in the chest, dangerously close to his heart.

"Imbecile! You're no use to me dead—" Orun yelled, the distraction leaving him open.

The hexbeast roared, punching the Mender in the chest with enough force to crack the surrounding ground. The force of the blow sent Orun flying, his sword clattering to the ground from his limp hand. His heart still beat with strength—a wound like that wouldn't take an Ascendant Mender down.

When the Ruler turned to face Draven, it was too late; he was already next to the beast. The sphere of blood and hexion had congealed to a volatile ruby-like energy that now hovered above his palm.

"Die, you little insect!" The Ruler roared. Darkness exploded erratically from his body in a desperate attempt to prevent the attack from landing.

He twisted to the side, dodging the brunt of the emitted hexion, but not all of it. The force of the hexion sent one of his arms flying, ripped clean off. Bones broke under the barrage, almost making him stumble and fall, but he'd made it.

Draven reached his hand, guiding the sphere forward, and unleashed all the stored wounds from Dyad Vessel while simultaneously letting the condensed hexion detonate against the Ruler's abdomen.

The explosion sent him flying alongside debris and chunks of flesh. Dust fell from the ceiling. The mountain roared with the anger of moving stone, showering the cave with dust. Draven hit the cave's confines with enough force to pulverize bones.

Air fled from his lungs, his vison blacked for a spilt second. His hold on the suppression placed on his second astra wavered. Draven looked down, his mind slow, confused. Heart Flame. He ignited the kindling ember inside his heart, and a calming sense of clarity returned.

When he looked down, he was unsurprised to find he no longer had arms. Forcing the hexion to mend broken bones and reform missing limbs, he emptied the vast reserves of his soul's depth, but it no longer mattered. The fight was over. No one could survive an attack like that except the wielder of the hexion it was forged from.

Draven felt Orun's heartbeat become distant by the second. Damned bastard, it's over! Why are you running? He looked around, pleased to see that Helvan and Corvanis were nowhere to be seen, but his heart faltered when a hand pressed against his shoulder.

"We need to go, Draven," Elevalein said, voice almost hysterical. "Now!"

"Abyss-damned old man." Finn looked ahead. "Can you run, Draves?"

The dust settled slowly, revealing wrathful yellow eyes. The Ruler of Shadow stood, one arm broken rather than completely torn off. Several wounds drew blood across its black-furred, mountainous body. Broken, ripped shadows enveloped its abdomen like a broken piece of armour, and through it, flesh and bone spilled blood like a river.

The Ruler of Shadow palmed at its wound, reinforcing the patch with darkness, turned his gaze to Draven and grinned. Shivers crawled down his spine, but rather than freeze him with inaction, they spurred his mind to motion. He pulled Finn by the leg, bringing him down.

"What are you—"

Draven ripped the backpack from his back, pushing his hand inside until he touched a stiff piece of metal in the shape of a cube. Finn grabbed him for support. Elevalein pulled him up, eager to flee. But they would not make it in time, not when the hexbeast was no longer suppressed.

Not when it could use its domain freely.

When the Ruler of Shadows disappeared from his sight, Draven did not hesitate to push the last shreds of his hexion to power the remnant. It burned hot for a split second, whining into a crescendo, but it lacked the hexion to fully activate.

Friend, the Hemomorph whispered into his mind.

Hexion surged from its core, slamming into the remnant. It flared to life, burning brightly.

The fabric of the world bent around Draven, dragging Finn and Elevalein with him as the surrounding darkness shattered. Reality cracked and caved inward. Hexion flooded back through his meridians—wild, berserk, and uncontrolled.

Pain lanced through his body. The pull of unconsciousness became too strong to resist.