Crimson Ascension

The difference between Empyrean realms was not often an unbridgeable gap. An Eminence, if talented enough, could fight an Ascendance, and the same was true for the realms below. It was rare, defying the ranks took affinity and experience few were blessed enough to have, but it was possible. But as Draven looked at the battle taking place in the sky, he knew there were limits to even what an Archon could accomplish.

Stray hexion, the dregs of the Maker's attack, tore the earth with a power that dwarfed even the grandest of Empyrean attacks. As if the ground itself roared in pain, the earth rose with each attack, angered and obliterated by the strands of multi-colored light and black lightning.

Just one of those would be enough, he thought. A single shred, thrown as an afterthought, would be enough to end not only him but everyone around it. And I'm supposed to fight him? Helvan must be insane.

No amount of hard work, talent, and experience could defeat that. The air cracked and lit on fire as the two figures chased one another with speed faster than Draven's eyes could process. It was no use thinking about what would be; they had to find their way out of the Old World fast.

Helvan looked at the wave of frozen earth and black lightning that surrounded them, his skin turning a shade whiter. He knew the same energy that held the stone afloat was enough to end them—any of them.

"Put me down, old man." Finn tapped the Sovran on the shoulder. "I don't want to be around you when you crap your pants."

Draven would have laughed at the impudence if he had not been feeling as desperate as Helvan appeared to be.

"Helvan?" Corvanis said, an unasked question in his eyes. He looked for directions, for what to do. Helvan had to know. He always knew.

"I am… not sure," Helvan confessed, swallowing as he looked around. "It was not supposed to be like this."

"But the visions—"

"Showed none of this!" The Sovran snapped, waving his hand around. Lost.

"The future changes every time we glimpse it, like the surface of a puddle rippling whenever it is touched," Draven muttered, remembering his father's words. "It's difficult to change, but not impossible."

"I've heard the same word before." Finn nodded, eyes glowing white. Hexion flowed out of his body, taking the shape of a man's arm. It was woven out of pure white light, with not a hint of color on it. "If the path ahead isn't paved, we just need to carve a new one."

The Dreamer pushed his hands forward. His arms disappeared in the air, as if piercing a solid veil. It rippled around his fists, like water. Finn fell to his knees, blood streaking out of his eyes, ears, and mouth.

"Finn, what are you—" A tearing sound interrupted Draven.

The air ripped open like a fabric, the darkness beyond shining through the fissure in resemblance to the very entrance they used to make their way into the Old World. It was a Dream—a manifestation of a figment of imagination into the real world—but how could Finn, a median Reverence, achieve that? His power alone should have proved lacking.

"Quickly… I can't hold it for… long," Finn said between gasps of breath, falling on his back and away from the fissure.

Helvan looked at him for a split second before urging Corvanis and Elevalein forward. "Go!" Their figures disappeared into the darkness, and the Sovran soon followed.

"You're full of surprises, hm?" Draven helped Finn to his feet. "I'm beginning to believe the rumors."

"Rumors?" Finn looked weak, like the last leaf of a dying tree on the verge of falling. "I don't understand."

"Haven't you heard? Everyone says you're a genius or something." Draven smiled. With a sliver of his will, he let the hexion mend the physical damages to Finn's body. His face gained a shade of pink, but the tiredness and lethargy remained.

"Gotta live up to my reputation." Finn smiled. "Thanks, Draves."

He wounded his soul. Draven shook his head. Other than Elevalein, only Finn could repair the damage he had suffered—wounds to the soul were more intimate and persistent than those of flesh. Still, he wondered about the arm of a man Finn had manifested. It had to belong to someone powerful enough to create a fissure in reality.

This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.

"Listen, Draven. There's something I need to tell you." Finn looked ashamed. Weak. "Something I did—"

"There will be plenty of time to talk later, Finn." Draven stepped forward. The darkness embraced them.

***

The light of countless torches shone above. Unlike sunlight, it didn't warm the skin; its only function is to chase away the shadows. A lesser imitation of a sun. Draven thought he would have missed the burning celestial body, but he was glad to be away from that abyss-forsaken wasteland.

Let the Maker deal with that thing. We carried Finn out of the fissure. The spikes and trenches around the entrance to the Old World were unchanged. The spot of dried blood had been cleansed by Empyreans, a good way to make others forget the heavy price it was to live in Varn'Kess.

"Where's Helvan and the others? I need your brother to heal me." Finn frowned, mustering the strength to stand on his own. "Soul wounds aren't pleasant, I'll tell you that."

Draven didn't use his eyes. Rather than look around, he felt his surroundings with heartsense. Nervous heartbeats behind him, obscured by the fissure in their back, told him where Helvan and Elevalein were, but he couldn't sense Corvanis. Did Helvan send him off to do something shady again? Two other heartbeats, different, unfamiliar, stood nearby.

"Helvan—" The words fell from Draven's lips as he turned the corner, leaving the fissure behind.

Helvan stood, green-edged sword in hand. He held it forward, knees bent sharply and ready for battle. Elevalein stood by his side, dressed in a set of emerald armour. Three Specters stood in front of him, pointing spears at the two men in front.

Draven met Corvanis' lifeless eyes, saw the blood that trailed on the corners of his mouth, and knew it he had been too late. A silver hand impaled the Sovran's body in the chest, holding him high in the air with ease. It was ironic, in a way, that Corvanis' journey had ended the same way it had begun, but Draven was past the point of laughing. Rage burned deep inside his chest.

He looked at the Chaos Perfected and felt not one shred of fear. The Perfected's head was bad, shining like a mirror in the sun. His torso was shirtless, where lay an intricate runic circuit that blazed with power, much like the one emblazoned on Helvan's chest.

The man beside him wore a slate gray set of armour, unadorned besides the emblem of a silver flame carved on the center of his chest. His face was ice. His eyes were pure emerald. The calm facade broke whenever his sight meandered to the creature beside him, the Archon of Chaos, the hound of the Maker. Not one living being in the Haven could meet a Perfected and not shudder.

There was something familiar about the Evoker, but Draven couldn't remember where he had seen him before.

Finn unceremoniously drew the sword from his hip. He had never liked Corvanis—Finn barely restrained rancor against Sovrans, only softened around Myra and Helvan. Sometimes. But when he looked at Corvanis' lifeless body, he seemed to take the loss personally, as if it were his fault. The look on his face, the shame on his quivering lips, was as if it were his hand that impaled the late Overseer.

"This is my mess, Draven. I'll deal with it." Finn strode forward, but Draven held him back.

"That is a Perfected, if you didn't realize yet." Finn was not one to throw his life away like that. What had changed? "What do you mean, your mess? We couldn't have known—"

"I did! I leaked rumors about you entering the Old World." Finn refused to meet his eyes. "This… I did this."

"Why in the abyss would you do that, Finn?" The revelation stunned Draven like a punch to the gut. Finn had betrayed him? That wasn't possible. He was a miner! They were supposed to stick together.

"That's the Silver Flame Inquisition's captain. He was supposed to ambush me, just me, in the Old World. I saw it in my dreams, I swear it." Finn snarled. Fury. Regret. Shame. His voice flitted between a multitude of emotions, his heart beat like the roar of a furnace. "But something changed. It was like fate snapped in half."

Draven sighed. The fury in Finn's heart was familiar. The Sovran's face was familiar. He had seen the man before; he remembered it now.

"There's only one thing that makes you lose your cool like that." Draven placed a hand on Finn's shoulder. "He's your father, isn't he?"

Finn shuddered at the touch, but slowly nodded his head.

Overseers abusing their power in the Catalyst Districts was not an unheard of occurrence. Many used their early years of service to the Haven, their station as Overseers, to indulge in tasting what it felt like to rule above others. Their actions often crossed lines; violence, needless death, persecution, as long as the population of a district didn't dwindle, the Magisterium Arcana would not interfere.

Not even when one of their own mingled with those of lesser blood. Paradius had done it, and so did the captain of the Silver Flame Inquisition.

"Draven von Astrais," the Perfected spoke in an emotionless, lifeless tone. "In the name of the Maker, Protector of the Haven, surrender yourself to me. There need not be another needless death."

Wake up, Morph. Draven stared at the Perfected. He needed time. This time, he wouldn't run. The Perfected had killed one of his own, the man he once hated, the man he had grown to respect, and he would pay for it.

The slumbering serpent inside his astra understood his plan. Their thought were mingled. Their communication needed no words, not when they share an astra. They were two individual beings, but they were also the same.

The Hemomorph took hold of his body as Draven dove inside his astra. The crimson mantle formed over his entire body, not just his pants, covering his head and limbs. A tail sprouted behind his back, tearing the ground with a crackling snap.

Last time he had lost. Last time, Draven and he had fought against each other. Now, they fought as one. A bestial smile split his features. This time, he would be the hunter.