The Ascender's Legacy [A CHAOTIC STORM LITRPG]

In the four kingdoms of Lutia—excluding the central kingdom, only three were considered to be on friendly terms—allies, if the situation called for it. Sunstone was not a part of these three kingdoms, having been shunned and cast out for their betrayal.

Everyone hated them, and though neither Calodan nor Unoros acted out their anger like Ragnarok did, their hatred for Sunstone still ran deep, and in that moment, surrounded by over a hundred people, tense with anger and fear, that hatred made itself known very quickly.

It rose into the air like a miasma of bloodlust, swirling and twisting like a living entity—so tangible, Aodhán could almost taste it. Daruk's grip on his arm tightened, and Aodhán gripped him back, his gaze narrowing at the Sunstonians who stood frozen at the entrance, eyes wide in fear.

They looked so similar that their familial ties were obvious. Neither of the three bore the mark of the sunburst on their forehead, but they were all dressed in priestly robes, stained with mud and grass. Initiates, perhaps.

A boy—the eldest of the three siblings—stood at the center, hands stretching out protectively over his two sisters as the cloud of bloodlust thickened. He tried to speak, stuttered, and then promptly clicked his mouth shut in fear and embarrassment, his eyes darting back and forth as he tried to take in everyone at once.

Aodhán scowled at them, his emotions churning as the faces of a few Sunstonian champions flashed in his mind. Patchwork, Warp, and Luminus—they had caused so much death in Ragnarok, especially with their latest attack, that the number of people whose deaths they were responsible for numbered in millions, if not billions.

He remembered Seo-yeon, the changeling, and the number of soldiers she had killed. He remembered her sister, Seo-min, and the further damage she had caused. He remembered Champion Cyridian Lightweaver and how brutally Luminus had taken her life.

With each memory, Aodhán's anger grew alongside the miasma of bloodlust swirling above him. A ringing began in his ear, his body tensed, and his heartbeat raced. Bloodlust poured out of him in waves, joining the cloud above, and it wasn't until Daruk nudged him that Aodhán realized just how much he'd been contributing to the intense amount of hatred in the room.

The realization startled him, not because he didn't expect to feel animosity toward the Sunstonians, but because he hadn't quite expected it to be so much that it took tangible form. Unconsciously, he had entered battle mode, seeing himself back at the Steppin' plains, where the blood of soldiers had flowed like rivers until he'd arrived with the miracle rain.

With a sharp inhale, Aodhán doused the fires burning in his heart, nearly staggering from the intensity of it. However, he soon realized that compared to many others in this room, his hatred for the Sunstonians had only scratched the surface.

One man in particular seemed to be unleashing the largest wave of bloodlust, and when Aodhán saw the Ragnarian military vest the man was wearing, he understood completely. The man was a tier 47 Void awakened, with a series of purple-black stripes marking his exposed skin and eyes like pools of deep space.

His lips were curled into a snarl of disdain, and his expression burned with an unmatched fury as he stalked forward, bloodlust rising from his body in waves.

"Well, isn't today a good day?" he chuckled darkly as he drew closer to the Sunstonians, his voice laced so thickly with hatred and disgust that not even a smile could conceal it. He looked back then, and Aodhán realized the man had friends.

He turned to one of them, a beefy, tier 45 fire awakened, and smiled sweetly, "Look what the cultists dragged in, Primus? Oh, isn't it terribly gracious of them to offer us such delicate Sunstonians on a platter?"

"It certainly is?" The man called Primus replied, flashing a cruel grin as he moved to join his friend. "What do you say we break them to pieces right here in this moment?"

The Sunstonians stiffened further, faces hard, but they weren't fooling anyone. Their fingers betrayed their nervousness, and when the boy spoke, his voice shook in obvious fear. "Please, we don't want to fight. We just want to be left alone."

"Oh, certainly," the void awakened laughed and turned to his friend once more. "How much are you willing to bet that those were the same words their ancestors spoke when they betrayed us?"

The Sunstonians whitened in terror, and the boy stuttered again, "I… we. Please, just leave us be."

A ripple of laughter rumbled through the chamber at the boy's words, and Aodhán frowned in disapproval. He glanced at Daruk and sighed in relief when he found the same expression on his face.

As much as he hated the Sunstonians for their crimes, this was not the right way to take out that anger, nor was it even directed at the right culprits. These three had nothing to do with the war. Hell, they didn't even look much older than Daruk.

The boy who was the strongest of them was only at the 26th tier, barely into the advanced class himself, while his two sisters were still in the evolved class. Just like Aodhán and Daruk, they were prey, only that they had come into this place bearing the sins of their fathers and forefathers.

The void-awakened soldier didn't share Aodhán's reluctance, however, because he sneered down at the Sunstonians and cracked his knuckles. "If this is the apology of cultists, then it is gracious indeed. I accept it."

His smile widened into a predatory grin, so sharp that even Aodhán was repulsed slightly. The Sunstonian girls, on the other hand, jerked back, eyes wide in panic as they stumbled to hide behind their elder brother, who was practically shivering with fear at this point.

"Stay away from us." He shouted; a finger pointed forward in a threat that failed to land.

His outburst only caused the men's grin to widen, and they began taking slow, predatory steps towards them.

No one moved to stop them. No one called for order. No one called for an end to this insanity.

Daruk glanced at him in warning, but Aodhán didn't need the warning. He clenched his fist and ground his teeth in growing anger as the men drew even closer, violence radiating off them in waves.

Aodhán's frown deepened as his instincts and nature warred with his sense of self-preservation. His icon phrase echoed in his mind like a mantra, but he pushed it all down, forcing himself to stay quiet and passive.

This was the wrong time to play hero or even the good guy. This was fate's attempt at easing the pressure off him, and he wouldn't ruin it all by making a scene and calling attention to himself and Daruk.

Despite all his good sense, however, Aodhán knew he couldn't just stand by and watch.

His instincts screamed at him, and his body shuddered as his icon phrase urged him to rise for another.

I rise when I can.

"I can't." Aodhán screamed in his mind, gritting his teeth in helplessness.

Daruk's grip on him tightened, holding him back rather than seeking comfort.

The men reached the Sunstonians, and with a sudden burst of violence, the void awakened raised a hand to punch the boy into oblivion.

Aodhán looked away, fingers digging tightly into Daruk's arm as he waited to hear the crunch of flesh and bone or a scream of terror as bone snapped.

But the sound never came.

Instead, a deep thump pulsed through the chamber, earthen energy rippling outward as a concrete wall cracked open to reveal a man dressed in the signature crimson and black robes of the cultists, only further embellished with gold to signify his rank as an elder.

Light poured in through the new entrance, forcing everyone to shield their eyes from the intensity.

The Elder stepped through the breach, each step sending tremors through the floor like thunder. His face was like that of a granite statue, hair white as bone, and mythic eyes like swirling pools of silver, an unusual color for an earth-awakened.

He glanced at the Sunstonians impassively, arms folded neatly behind his back, and Aodhán suddenly realized why he hadn't heard the squelch of bone and flesh.

The void awakened was no more, and in its place stood a statue of pure, unmarked white marble, frozen in time. The marble cracked a moment later, and with a slight cock of the man's head, the marble simply turned to dust, forming a small pile of white marble powder where he had been standing.

His friend staggered backward immediately, eyes wide in terror as the marble dust settled at his feet. He looked back at the Elder in terror, but the man ignored him completely, his silver gaze moving methodically from person to person.

The moment those eyes found him, Aodhán looked away, every instinct screaming that meeting that gaze would be a fatal mistake.

And when the elder spoke, his words confirmed it. "Your life doesn't matter to me, nor does it matter to the Watchers. It does quite matter to the Fated if he's interested in your affinity, but I hear the Fated already has the void affinity in the bag. What this means is that many of you are expendable. And I won't hesitate to remove you if you so much as look me in the eye while I speak."

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Everyone looked down immediately, and in the silence that descended upon the room, the elder continued. "Good afternoon, captives. My name is Elder Makin, 7th in the hierarchy. Today, I will brief you on why you're here. But before I begin, let me explain to you how this goes. I speak. You listen. You do not interrupt with questions. If I give an instruction, you obey immediately if you wish to keep breathing. Is that clear?"

No one responded, unwilling to offend the elder, but then his voice dropped to a whisper, low and threatening. "I asked—is that clear?"

"Yes." Almost everyone responded, although a few people went as far as adding his honorifics, while the Sunstonians went as far as falling to their knees and kissing the stone.

Fucking kiss-asses. Aodhán scowled at the sight and shook his head, wondering whether he was on their side or not. One minute ago, he was almost about to risk his life for them, and now, he couldn't stand them.

"Very good." Elder Makin moved to the center of their gathering, oblivious to Aodhán's internal conflict. "This is the first Harvest tournament since the Fated was found, so we're doing it grandly. Your entry into Abyssos serves as entertainment for the Order's residents as much as it is your rite of passage. But not all of you will be harvested, and not all will die. The Order is not without mercy after all. And so, you may enter Abyssos with hope, however slim."

He stopped in front of a man whose skin gleamed with cosmic dust, and Aodhán heard the man take an audible gasp. Aodhán couldn't see them with his head down, but he could see the Elder's feet and pieced together the man's expression from the way he stiffened in terror.

A yanking sound, then a clatter as several spatial rings fell to the concrete floor, scattering across the ground. The Elder moved, and all the rings turned to marble dust, imploding from within along with whatever was inside them.

The man made no sound, though Aodhán was certain he wouldn't have been able to hold back a scream in that position.

Without missing a beat, the Elder continued. "There are 129—now 128—of you here. That number will likely be cut in half on the first day in Abyssos, but I hope there are enough geniuses among you to keep the show going until the end. In case I wasn't clear earlier, the Order will be watching, which means you'll have people rooting for you. Now, they can't send you any aid, but they can certainly pray to Sárán to save you."

Aodhán snorted internally, wondering what use their prayers were if they couldn't aid him. If they liked him so much, couldn't they break him out of Abyssos?

Another clatter of rings drew him from his thoughts, and Aodhán inhaled sharply when he realized how close the Elder had gotten. His muscles clenched, panic coursing through him as the Elder continued.

"Everything inside Abyssos is real, including the swarms and hordes of monsters ravaging through it. This means you can grow in power within the realm. However, it remains under our control, so certain things and events can be tweaked and manipulated as we see fit."

Aodhán wondered what that meant but couldn't delve deeper into the thought because the Elder stopped directly in front of him and Daruk. Aodhán stood as still as marble, his mind racing as he wondered just how effective mythic sight truly was and how much they could really see.

With no access to his core and willpower, could their gaze pierce into him? Could the Elder see the necklace he had hidden?

Cold spread across his skin as the Elder grabbed the lightning necklace around his neck and yanked it free, turning it to marble dust instantly. He seized Daruk's ring next, and a moment later, more marble dust joined the pile on the floor.

The Elder paused, silver gaze scanning him from head to toe, and Aodhán's heart hammered against his ribcage, his body fighting the urge to fight or flee. Not that any such options would get him anywhere.

Fortunately, the man didn't seem to sense the necklace clenched between his buttocks, and Aodhán forced himself not to sigh in relief as the Elder moved on.

As important as the destroyed necklace had been—containing nearly all his essentials: cores, money, textbooks, the voltrite core, and other mundane items—the lightning pendant clutched between his cheeks was far more crucial. Beyond its mental fortification properties, it held the bulk of his wealth, a large pile of cores, Zatya's runic practice notes, the summoning ritual array she'd given him, rare plants, and the fire treasure he'd found in Nilhal.

Everything of true importance was in that pendant, and Aodhán couldn't imagine surviving Abyssos without it.

For the next few minutes, he stood rigid, waiting until the Elder had moved far from him before glancing at Daruk, whose eyes were bright with unshed tears. Aodhán squeezed Daruk's hand gently in comfort, but his gesture seemed to have little effect. Still, he held on until the Elder returned to the front of the chamber.

"One last thing," the Elder began. "Your skills and abilities cannot pierce the veil of Abyssos. Within the realm, you're cut off from the natural flow of time, karma, and even fate. In essence, you stand outside reality, governed only by Abyssos's laws. Any attempt to pierce this veil will not end well. I advise against it, though I don't expect you to heed me. The consequences will speak for themselves. Now, look up."

The difference between 'look up' and 'look me in the eye' was clear, and though Aodhán looked up, he made sure to look away from the elder's face entirely. His gaze landed on a floating tray that hadn't been there earlier, and he glanced at Daruk in confusion as the tray began moving toward them.

The tray contained a pile of wristbands seemingly made of rubber, each one a different color. Elder Makin gave no instruction, but his intent soon became obvious as the first person selected a band and put it on without dying.

The tray moved from person to person, and when it stopped before Aodhán and Daruk, they each picked one and slipped it on hesitantly.

The moment the band circled their wrists, a holographic blue screen appeared before them, displaying a countdown.

TIME LEFT: 05:12

After everyone had selected a wristband, the Elder finally spoke. "That band will become your closest friend very soon. It will track your numbers and display both a likability tab and a detest tab. It will provide information about every level of Abyssos you encounter and monitor everyone else's progress compared to yours—though that's not a feature you'll access anytime soon."

"More importantly," the Elder continued, "you may be tasked with eliminating someone or a group of people at some point. The bands will prove vital then. Any questions?"

Hands shot up immediately, but the Elder called on a Calodan woman in scale-back armor. She stepped forward, face hard. "What reward do we get for eliminating someone?"

"I'm not entirely sure yet," the Elder replied. "But whatever it is will carry weight. Depending on the situation, you might even earn your freedom—true freedom and a chance to join the Order."

Aodhán grimaced in disgust, and apparently many others did too, because the Elder laughed at them. "You turn your nose up at the offer now, but after a week in Abyssos, you'll beg for it. You'll cry out to us, and when we finally grant mercy, you'll crawl to us and weep at our feet, proclaiming your gratitude."

He chuckled darkly and stretched out his hand, conjuring a swirling portal as he continued. "My words aren't a threat, but a promise. You all will come begging, and I will be here, waiting to be merciful."

Aodhán shuddered at the Elder's words, deeply unsettled. His situation with the Watchers and the Fated was unique, and he wouldn't put this elimination game past them at all.

The Elder chuckled as he watched the weight of his words sink in before pointing to the swirling portal. "Your chains will be broken the moment you arrive in Abyssos. Make your way in and begin your rite of passage."

The words carried subtle authority, commanding and absolute. Yet no one stepped forward. The moment they had all dreaded was here, and not one of them was ready. Aodhán's breath came in short bursts, heart racing as he stared at the swirling portal.

Daruk's grip on his arm tightened, seeking strength and assurance, but Aodhán had none to give. He was just as terrified. Once they entered Abyssos, there would be no turning back—no freedom except what the cultists offered. Their so-called true freedom, which was merely another form of slavery.

They would be cut off from natural reality, making it vastly harder for the kingdoms to track them. Entering Abyssos placed their fates firmly in the cultists' hands, and with their current strength, their chances of survival were slimmer than ever.

Fear coiled in their guts and churned in their bellies as the portal swirled like a tear in reality. The Elder neither spoke nor rushed them, his expression serene as if he had all the time in the world.

Eventually, someone moved.

Aodhán would have loved to say he was surprised to see Arkhan sauntering forward as if he had all the care in the world, but he truly wasn't. Arkhan took a deep breath when he reached the portal and then stepped into it, his body disappearing as the portal swallowed him whole.

Aodhán wasn't sure what he expected to happen—that Arkhan would be spewed out, a ground mess of tissue and bone—but when nothing of the sort happened, he gained a bit of confidence and tightened his grip on Daruk's palms. "We go together."

Daruk nodded, his voice shaky. "We'll be fine if we stick together. The champions are looking for us. Aldric is looking for us. Principal Zatya is looking for us. Ascendant Lightus is looking for us. We have hope."

"Yes, we do," Aodhán replied, feeling his heart steady at the mention of all the people searching for them. They weren't in this alone. Cyrus's parents were also searching for him, and they couldn't possibly save him without saving them all. More than that, there were several important-looking individuals within the chamber, all of whom had people looking for them, too. The cultists may be powerful, but with so many people searching for their loved ones, it was only a matter of time before they were found. There truly was hope.

With those thoughts strengthening his heart, Aodhán and Daruk walked forward, only the second set of people to make the decision. With their hands held tightly together, like the first time they entered an artificial rift, Aodhán and Daruk stepped through the portal together.

The world blurred, colors swirled, and an instant later, Aodhán was spat out into a world of obsidian skies and golden clouds. He landed hard on rocky ground veined with iridescent crystals, the impact sending amber ripples racing outward.

The chains around his arms and feet clanked to the ground with a loud sound, but Aodhán's relief barely lasted a heartbeat before a deafening shriek split the air. Then another. Then a chorus of them as a rampaging horde of shadow-wreathed creatures rose from beyond a ridge of obsidian stone, snarling and roaring, wings flapping in menace. Hundreds of them raced towards him, cores pulsing with shadow energy, and roars drowning out thought.

Aodhán glanced at the text hanging above the closest monster, and his breath caught.

[Nightmaw Reavers—Tier 27]

Stumbling back in fear, he reached for Daruk—only to realize he was utterly alone, spat out in a different direction from his brother.

"Oh, fuck." The curse escaped him as he took more desperate steps back, panic threatening to overwhelm him. However, before that could happen, a roar resounded in his mind, reminding him that he wasn't alone.

Varéc burst from his spirit with a roar, a torrent of storm and chaos essence rippling out to wash the surroundings in electricity. He landed beside Aodhán with predatory grace, his sinuous form so dark it was almost inky, chaos radiating off him in waves.

But the Nightmaw reavers were utterly unfazed.

They roared back at Varéc, acidic spittle flying from gaping maws as they closed the distance with terrifying speed. Every instinct screamed at Aodhán to run, to fly to safety—if such a thing existed in this cursed realm—but after being locked away in his spirit for so long, Varéc needed this release. He needed to unleash that accumulated madness before it consumed him and turned him against Aodhán like it had in the Willowood mansion.

Varéc roared again, and with a grimace of determination, Aodhán readied himself for battle against hundreds of advanced-class monsters. There was no way he was winning this, but perhaps he could hold on long enough for Varéc to purge the chaos from his mind.

Pulling energy and willpower into his starved pathways, Aodhán lifted himself into the air on a storm platform and opened his spirit to the origin plane of storm, sighing in a mixture of pain and pleasure as chaos surged into his spirit. It joined the flood of energy and willpower surging through his pathways, and with a gasp of pure bliss, like that of a parched man tasting water after days of dehydration—Aodhán pointed both hands at the incoming horde.

Thunder boomed.

Two massive beams of red lightning erupted out of him. They joined the overwhelming torrent of black lightning Varéc unleashed and then exploded.

The world turned black.