Symbiotic Ascension : A Progression Fantasy Adventure

The twin moons shone upon the Ink Dunes like two separate eyes, pale and empty of life. Strangely, there was not a single gust of wind running up the dunes and storming up clouds. Only the silence, the moonlight, and the two young men staring at a holographic map projected from an Observer.

"The towers south and south-west have all been taken care of," Glenn said with a hardened expression as he pointed at the lines connecting the towers. "There's only the distant part in the west that hasn't been mapped."

Sahro rubbed his stump, his teeth clenched. "There are only two explanations. Either they found something west, or they've been captured. Maybe killed."

Glenn shook his head. "No. I don't think they'd kill them. And I don't think they could. Lucian and the girls aren't stupid. They know to flee when facing an impossible opponent."

"I don't want to alarm you, but we are pretty sure the Celestial Gods are Newborn Rulers or individuals more powerful than that," warned Diamanes from within his palm. "Not even Whitey could fly away from a Newborn Ruler."

Glenn's heart wrenched with worry, but he ignored it. "There's no use talking about what-ifs or maybes."

A shriek disturbed the dunes' silent peace as Pebble dove into the ground, crashing in a large cloud of black sand. The one-eyed dragon shook the sand off with an impatient groan, blue flames burning up in his throat. Glenn jumped on his back, his eyes still glued to the Observer's map.

"So what's the plan?" Diamanes asked.

Sahro jumped on Pebble's back as well, Raijin the fox peeking his head out of his master's shadow before growling and returning immediately the way he came from.

"The same as always." Sahro clenched his Katana's hilt, a crackling crimson current of Aura running up the unsheathed blade. "We save our own. And destroy the rest."

"Dreadfully simple," cackled Diamanes. "I love it! This, is the way of the powerful!"

Glenn didn't reply. He simply patted the side of Pebble's neck. The one-eyed dragon roared at the sky before taking flight, Mana surging up in response to his call.

"To the west, Pebble," muttered Glenn. "To the west."

***

Thump!

Decimius rarely thought back to his life. Never, actually. He was content obeying orders, fighting powerful opponents, and quenching his body with the blood of the mighty warriors he slew with his glaive. Rarely did a human best him. Only once, actually. It was shameful to admit it, but it was the truth.

He remembered his name. A human unlike any he had ever fought. One with a thirst to fight stronger than his will to live. One similar to him, in some ways. A despair burning with hatred and desire for revenge. One who wielded a magic of the stars in one hand, and a sword in the other—all while cursed with the demon's mark.

The Devil's Hand.

The Duke of the Stars had become his new title, the past few months. That change was enough for Decimius to realize that his rival had changed, unlike him. His rival had grown stronger, fought stronger enemies, and quenched himself even further, like a masterwork blade.

Thump!

Decimius deflected the murderous blow with golden Aura, sending his attacker flying away.

"Deus vult! Deus vult! Deus vult!"

The arena shook with the roars of the spectators, rows and rows of newly born Orcs that had come to learn from the quenching. Decimius exhaled heavily, his knees wobbling and almost giving out. He planted his feet on the ground and pumped his fist at the sky, roaring back at the arena.

"DEUS VULT!"

The arena cheered at his exclamation, and he grinned widely at the sight. This was the only pleasure he could enjoy nowadays. He turned and didn't look back as he left the arena, leaving behind a hundred dead Crusader Orcs. All with incredible strength, who could have bolstered the ranks of the Celestial Gods' army.

Failures, in the sight of their creators.

Rebels.

The deafening roars of the public dimmed as he entered the dark hallway leading back to his 'room', watched over carefully by a human draped in a hooded cloak as green as Decimius' skin. The pressure he emitted was enough to make Decimius unable to breathe.

A Celestial God.

The thought of giving that man such an illustrious title was enough to force a chortle out of his clenched fangs. His sides pained him with each step he took, his ribs probably shattered. He had sustained enough injuries to lose sight in his right eye and was developing a slight limp in his left leg.

All because he failed one mission.

Which was something he could understand, all things considered. Generally, failure was enough to be thrown into the meat grinders and turned into food for the newborns, but the Celestial Gods had thought of something different. Their hold over the natal tribes of the Old Land was eroding ever so slightly as more and more Orcs were produced, and more and more Orcs died every day. The females were at their limit, and the captured humans weren't strong enough to bear the weight of Orcish seeds. And as if the situation wasn't bad enough, the necromancers always had fun raising the dead women to use as slaves or soldiers.

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The Masters decided that it would be a waste to simply eliminate all of the rebels. Instead, they created the quenching. The arena, in which Orcs continuously fought until death followed.

Ever since he'd returned from his failed mission, without his men or an enemy officer's head, Decimius had been fighting in this arena. The newborns learned from observations, and the Celestial Gods offered him a chance. Win enough fights to reach the Newborn Ruler level, and he would be free to return to the battlefield.

Decimius had never lost before. But he could feel defeat's claws creep up on him. His body was failing him, struggling to recover from the constant beating. Decimius had a lot of time to think about his condition, about his unwavering loyalty to the Celestial Gods, and the reason he existed.

And the more he thought, the more he understood why Orcs were rebelling everywhere. They were a ridiculously small part, a speckle of dust in the dunes, but still.

A grain of sand could be enough to derail even the best machine.

And nowadays, Decimius really felt like one tough grain of salt in the Orc growing machine of the Celestial Gods. And maybe he'd even grow into a larger grain one day, enough to force them to kill him. An honest fight, or rather an execution. It would probably be an execution.

Not that he cared anymore. Decimius had always only one reason to live, and it was to fight. Fight, fight, and fight again.

But when fighting became tiring, he realized that... he had nothing else. Nothing to fight for. No loyalty to push him forward. No desire he had grown himself.

He was nothing. One Orc among many.

Golden Aura ran down his arms, sparkling near his fists. He collapsed on his bed, a plank of wood hanging from the wall. He thought back to the Devil's Hand, the Duke of the Stars.

Glenn was his name, he remembered. Decimius clenched his fists tightly, a new desire lighting up in his heart.

One day, his name will echo through the world just like Glenn's.

And he wouldn't be just another Orc.

***

"Stop," ordered Glenn. Pebble flapped his wings and remained at a safe distance away. Sahro squinted as anger crept up on his face.

"There they are," he muttered. "We found the pigs' den."

"So it would seem." Glenn gritted his teeth. In the distance, islands covered in black structures hovered high in the sky, right above some thick black clouds. They were probably five minutes away on dragon-back. Glenn checked his Observer again, clicking his tongue. The holographic map failed to load up, glitches corrupting the data and making it unusable.

"That's why they couldn't upload their progress," Sahro realized. "The Observer doesn't work here."

"The Celestial Gods must have done something to the area." Glenn looked back at the islands. "Maybe some sort of dampener. Something that can interfere with Exan's technology must be seriously advanced, though."

"Shit, imagine if they got an Exan of their own?!" Diamanes exclaimed. "Like an evil Exan! Wait, no. A more evil Exan! One who wouldn't hesitate to kill you to get rid of me."

"I do not want to imagine that," winced Glenn. "Now, how do we go about this? We try to approach this place stealthily, or do we just...?" He mimicked an explosion with his hands. Sahro grinned wickedly and stood upon Pebble's back. His crimson, Primal Aura exploded out from within him, raging with violent urges.

"We do not have a second to waste on these pigs," he declared. "Let's destroy them and see if that gets the attention of the others."

Diamanes sneered. "That's a miserable plan. A miserable plan, I say!"

Glenn shrugged. "Suits yourself. Pebble, onward at full throttle."

The one-eyed dragon roared and rushed forward, the flaps of his wings making the air tremble. It only took a minute for the flying islands' inhabitants to realize that a house-sized dragon was flying at them. Which was quite impressive, considering they should have appeared quite small in their eyes.

'They probably have some sort of security measures,' thought Glenn. 'Alarm spells, wards, boring stuff like that. Ready to try out that black flame we stole from the Corpse, Diamanes?'

A wicked laughter echoed in Glenn's mind. 'I am always ready, Glenn.'

Like a cloud of flies, hundreds of Aura-wielding Orcs jumped in their direction, flying through the air. The pressure coming off them was no joke, even sending a shiver up Glenn's spine. A bead of sweat pearled down his forehead, and a grin appeared on his lips.

"Yes... That's the bare minimum you should use to defend key facilities, right?" He held his left hand before him, aimed at the incoming Orcs. Sahro unsheathed his Katana, three red fox tails appearing one after the other on his back. The two stood by each other, their breaths drawn and their hearts synchronized.

And like a single man, they attacked. A line of red crossed the horizon, before suddenly turning into a blinding white, the same white the Corpse had used in his attacks. Like a brush of paint on a black canvas, the white erased everything. The hundreds of Orcs coming at them disappeared in an instant.

The black flames in Glenn's purple hand faded away as he turned to Sahro in disbelief, his eyes wide open. The Black Heir calmly sheathed his Katana before collapsing on Pebble's back.

"That was a... little taxing," he wheezed, the colors draining out of his face. Raijin peeked out of his master's shadow and yelped in worry.

Glenn scoffed in awe. "Thank the Gods it is! What am I supposed to do if you can just unleash this thing casually?" He jeered while wiping the sweat off his eyebrows. A glance back at the islands, which hadn't been reached by Sahro's devastating cut, told Glenn that more Orcs were rushing for the slaughter.

"Maybe you should keep that Katana for the big occasions." Glenn lit his spells up again, adrenaline pumping out in every inch of his body. "You know, to slay Newborn Rulers and the like."

"I am forced to agree," groaned Sahro, unable to even raise his head.

Glenn moistened his lips and patted Pebble's back. "Bring Sahro further away. Feel free to join in once you're sure that idiot is safe."

"Hey!"

The dragon grunted with a nod and flapped his wings to turn direction. Glenn jumped off his back, using Gravity Manipulation at its fullest. He didn't bother turning back to look at the retreating dragon, his entire concentration focused on the incoming waves of enemies.

"One hundred, two hundred, three, four, no... five? More than that?" Diamanes whistled, impressed. "That's a lot of Orcs. And they all seem to be at Crusader level if they can fly."

"I have eyes to see, Diamanes. I know." Glenn grinned wickedly. "Now, what do you say we try to one-up Sahro? We can't let that muscle head appear stronger than us, right?"

Diamanes laughed manically. "To that, I reply a grand yes, Glenn. Black Hole?"

"Black Hole," nodded Glenn.

A black flame in one hand, a hungry hole light-swallowing magic in the other, Glenn smiled. And in one movement, combined both.

It was nowhere near the spell he'd used to defend against the principle of void the Divine Sage had conjured during his battle against the Corpse, but it was still quite the costly spell. Half of his Mana burned away like paper in flames. The Black Hole detached from Glenn and shot out in the Orcish army's direction. They were almost upon him, too.

For one instant, nothing happened. And the other, the spell happened.

"Oh." Diamanes simply said, incapable of uttering anything else. If Sahro's attack had been a brush's stroke, Glenn's spell was more like someone had spilled an entire can of paint on the canvas.

Everything disappeared. The flying islands were the only thing left in sight. Every Orc had been disintegrated. The black dunes below had been carved open, like a God had scooped out a large portion for himself. Glenn's back was drenched in cold sweat as he realized what he just did. Countless lives, extinguished with just one action.

He clenched his hands.

"For Munirp," he muttered to himself. "And for my family."

"And because fuck the Celestial Gods too!"

Diamanes' mocking laughter instantly died out when the pressure from a Newborn Ruler exploded out from within the flying islands. A figure draped in a dark green cloak flashed before Glenn, Mana fluctuating around him.

"That—" The cloaked man raised a finger at the sky. "—Wasn't nice."

He wore a mask under his hood, a mask of a monkey.

The same kind of masks the Occult Wanderers used.