Crimson Ascension

Hushed voices brought Draven back to reality. The dried, dead forest had been reduced to a collection of craters and shattered ground. There was no sign of the Ruler's carcass, but a dark cloud floated above with black lightning frothing rage.

"We need to… go," Elevalein pulled him up. His face was burned, flesh twisting and warped on top of his eye. Smoke rose from his flesh as if he had been thrown into a furnace—scars, resembling roots of a tree, spread over his exposed skin like a parasitic vine.

"Abyss below, Elevalein." Draven grabbed his hand, connecting his will to Elevalein's. Hexion mended the damage in moments. "You looked terrible."

"You're welcome, brother. May I mention you're naked?" The Evoker sighed as the pain vanished.

Draven promptly summoned the Hemomorph's Mantle over his flesh. He turned his attention to the sky, watching the cloud—Untaak'Dor's will. It hadn't moved or struck, but the Presence it exuded only grew stronger. On the horizon, many other black masses hovered in the sky, all headed to where he was.

"Yes, we need to go." Surviving Untaak'Dor was something he didn't think he could replicate, not even with the sword. The sword… Malediction, Draven thought, shaking his head. Cursed thing.

"You're both… alive." Helvan approached, an astounded look on his face. "But how? You were supposed to—"

"No thanks to you," Elevalein snarled. "Finn was right."

"Cut it off, Evoker." Corvanis narrowed his eyes at the approaching darkness. "There are more important things to do than bicker. Save it until we are out of this abyss-forsaken place." He threw Finn's sleeping form over his shoulder like a sack of coal.

After the words left his lips, black lightning descended in the distance. The numerous clouds, the scattered pieces of the Fallen's soul, struck the ground with enough fury to unravel the world. Elevalein observed the change with a confused frown. That alarm stained his confused with every strand of lightning that hit the ground.

"It's killing hexbeasts. All of them. I can feel them, like a hundred candles suddenly blinking out," the Evoker muttered, eyes going wide. "The Presences… they get stronger with each beast slain."

Lightning crackled down from the cloud above their head. Draven willed hexion to form a shield around them, but the attack never reached them. It stood frozen in time, moving with a speed perceivable to the naked eye.

Helvan glanced at the cloud, then at Draven, his face puzzled. Was it disappointment or relief that crossed those callous eyes? It was difficult to judge. Sometimes, the raven-haired Sovran seemed almost emotionless; other times, his feelings were all but written on his face. Without a word, he broke into a sprint, and the others followed.

Minutes later, after they had distanced themselves enough from the strike, Helvan allowed his Art to vanish. Time resumed its course. An echoing explosion echoed behind them, like an angry miner striking rock with their pickaxe. Rocks burst from the crater in a wave of shooting debris, whistling past Draven's ears with terrifying speed.

He's getting stronger. It was hard to believe anything could be stronger than that, but it was true—Draven felt it as clearly as the rumbling ground beneath his armored feet. It's gathering power, stealing it from the hexbeasts.

He had to do the same. The Az'Tenri Circlet had many unassigned attributes, yet Draven dared not use them. The last thing he could afford was to be motionless for several minutes.

In the distance, far outside the region known as Untaak'Dor's tomb, Draven saw the Ascendant dragon again. It was smaller than he remembered, but its red scales shone just as brightly. Its black wings flapped with urgency, and it wasn't until Draven saw the cloud that hovered above it he understood why.

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Lightning descended into the beast, obliterating its body. It was dead, just like that. An Ascendant hexbeast, the pinnacle of power in the Old World, was struck dead by one attack. Sweat poured down his neck in nervous rivulets.

"Helvan, where are we going?" Draven asked. "Everyone says you can't get out of this region once you enter it."

"Physical passage outside it was impossible due to the Fallen's will. It once surrounded its tomb like a veil, allowing entrance to the fools who sought to discover what mysteries lay in this wasteland." Helvan spoke as he ran. "But the Fallen had spread his influence wider now. We may be able to pass it."

May. A remote possibility was better than nothing. Still, Draven couldn't shake Helvan's reaction when he and Elevalein had walked out alive from the Fallen's attack. He had known what would happen, how all the events until that moment would unfold. Was he terrified that he could no longer know what was ahead? Draven certainly was. The sword resting inside his soul was a shuddering reminder of what he had become, and what one day, without fail, he would need to do.

He still had time. Abyss take him, he still had time. And he would make it count.

The ground rumbled under his feet with renewed intensity. Draven risked a look behind, and by all that was sacred, he wished he hadn't. Like the waves of a raging stream, the cracked earth rose from the ground. Lightning stitched it together, the will of Untaak'Dor as the needle, until it resembled a landslide that moved with purpose and direction.

Ahead, a similar sight blocked the vision of everything that lay beyond. There was only black lightning and unearthed fury. Death.

"Now what?" Elevalein sucked in a breath of cold air.

Helvan abruptly stopped running. He looked in the distance, face furrowed as if his previous elderly years were back upon him. For the first time since Draven met him, the Sovran looked uncertain.

Draven pulled the Sovran's sleeve. "Helvan—" The man didn't budge. He stood frozen, motionless. But the stillness didn't afflict only him; the entire world drained of color, froze as time ceased to flow.

"It is surprising how long you could hide from me, especially when you needed not." A voice echoed behind Draven. It belonged to a man—the man. "We meet at last, my son." Skin white, almost lifeless, silver hair reaching his waist. "Though I wish it had been under better circumstances."

A Presence as vast as the world wrapped itself around Draven as he looked at the creator of the Haven, as he witnessed the immortal ruler who had slain the very being he now ran from. Had the sword not baptized his will, expanded it beyond its limits, Draven doubted he could have met the man's gaze, much less stand.

Unwilling to let himself fall to his knees, Draven said, "Hunting me down doesn't make me your son, Maker."

The Maker looked at him, his lips parting into an amused smile. "No matter how much we struggle, a fruit does not fall far from a tree. Even when its branches have withered and died, the fallen seed will rise to replace it."

That's it? Draven thought. He caught me, but all he's doing is talking riddles? Narrowing his eyes, Draven abruptly punched the white-haired man in the face. His fist passed through the Maker as if he were not there. What had been a suspicion became certainty; the Maker was not there, not fully.

"Astute." The Maker nodded. "I have not come here to capture you, Draven von Astrais. It is merely duty that drives my presence to these ruined lands. That creature must not be allowed to escape."

Draven absently nodded. The Maker wasn't there, even when he had a chance at striking Draven dead, stealing his Fragment of Eternity for himself. Even when the Haven itself stood against the rise of a fallen enemy intent on destroying it.

He can't be here. The realization struck Draven like a punch to the gut. After awakening his Malediction, after knowing its price, he had speculated. He would have to pay its price one day, perhaps soon.

The Maker's eyes narrowed, as if reading his mind. "This world was once beautiful. Bountiful. My powers were insufficient to stop its collapse then." His eyes burned with multi-colored light. "Not anymore."

Time resumed its flow. The Maker vanished, appearing in the sky; he floated with the authority and prowess one could only hope for when inside their soul. The ground stopped shaking. An unrelenting Presence descended into the world. The black clouds twisted into a tornado, condensing into the form of Untaak'Dor. The Maker stood in front of the Fallen, his silver hair flowing behind his back.

Finn opened his eyes.