The Ascender's Legacy [A CHAOTIC STORM LITRPG]

Congratulations! You have evolved into the advanced class.

Minor regeneration >>> Basic regeneration >>> Lightning regeneration.

You have gained resistance to evolved skills.

All skills have evolved into the advanced class.

Congratulations! Your core has undergone a second tribulation. Evolved core sense >>> Advanced core sense. The cores of Mythics are now an open book.

Congratulations! You have gained true insight into the Origin…

Aodhán opened his eyes to a full notification screen as the last of his tissues knitted themselves back together, lightning sparking between them. Rather than inspect his gains, though, he dismissed the notifications to inspect his body.

The first thing he moved was his head, savoring the sharpness of his enhanced senses as he took in his surroundings for the first time since the tribulation. His gaze landed on a towering ice wall emanating dense amounts of cold energy, but beyond the crystal-clear barrier, he could see three more, each one larger than the last. Protecting him.

Beyond all that, though, were the sounds of battle—ice shattering, claws slashing, fangs snapping. Roars and shrieks filled the air, and a pungent scent of blood teased his nostrils. Core sense spread out wide, far more powerful than before, and Aodhán gasped as hundreds of advanced cores blazed to his senses, their intents clear.

They were here for him!

He jumped to his feet immediately, fashioning a robe of storm for himself in panic. And that was when he felt it—a shift in the atmosphere, like the world had suddenly leaned closer. As if the sky itself exhaled against his skin.

He stilled, eyes wide in amazement.

The origin plane was all around him—no longer distant nor abstract, but flowing around him beneath a membrane of reality so thin it brushed against his spirit with quiet intimacy. Soft. Electric. Alive.

It felt so close that Aodhán could almost taste it, like copper and ozone on the back of his tongue. Like thunder in his lungs.

Instinctively, he reached a hand towards it.

There was no tearing. No strain. No pulling.

The origin plane simply opened, and chaos flowed into his pathways like water into cupped hands—smooth, effortless, and completely pleasurable.

Aodhán's breath hitched as he waited for the usual pain and strain to accompany the pleasure, but it never came, and that was when he realized something very weird.

His mind was intact.

For someone who had just gained a seal, his mind was crystal clear, completely untainted by chaos even though he could feel it all around him. Where was the insanity of the twisted effect? The complete loss of control that usually followed the branding of quintessence?

It was strange and confusing, but all Aodhán felt in that moment was relief.

Whatever the reason for these strange occurrences with chaos, he was just glad he didn't have to undergo the twisted effect in a place like this. In a situation like this.

Exhaling deeply, Aodhán reached deeper into the origin plane and gasped in pleasure as more chaos rushed through his pathways, diffusing into his spirit. It was almost like being in the origin plane once again. No pain. No fear. Just pleasure, and a rich sense of belonging.

The robe he had created shimmered with depth, more real than any construct he had ever made before. It hummed in his hands, alive with a power he hadn't asked for—simply gained.

I GAIN STRENGTH TO GIVE IT!

This was him gaining strength. The origin plane was feeding his spirit in response to his ideal. It was accepting him, and for the first time, the origin plane didn't feel like something to master or control. Only accept.

With a growing smile, Aodhán accepted the power being offered to him, letting the infinite river of chaos pour into his spirit like an overwhelming tide. It crashed through him with impossible depth—not destructive, not wild, but full, filling every corner of his spirit like warm ocean water flooding into a hollow chamber.

Pleasure surged, and Aodhán groaned, basking in the immense sense of power and control that enveloped him.

His senses sharpened even further, becoming raw, electric, endless. He felt every thread of chaos as it rushed through his pathways, diffused into his spirit, and sank into his blazing core.

His spirit drank chaos in like a man starved of breath. And it felt right.

He wasn't overwhelmed. He wasn't drowning. He was immersed, completely enveloped, and yet he wanted more. He needed—

More flowed into his spirit, responding to his wishes without him having to take any action. It filled him completely. His spirit sang. His pathways hummed. His core burned.

And that was when he felt it. A resonance with something new. A part of himself he hadn't been able to harness before.

Moisture.

It gathered around him, droplets of water levitating in the air—not summoned, but called. Kindled within his spirit as a result of his new understanding.

He had awakened an aspect.

Stunned, Aodhán lifted a hand, and a single droplet drifted towards his palm. His fingers breached the surface, and the droplet quivered, bending toward him in obeisance. Not completely, but enough.

Aodhán smiled, wonder blooming in his chest. He had awakened an aspect.

It should have been impossible, but Aodhán understood now that this was simply a perk of having a strong spirit. He had gained a familiar at the evolved class. And now an aspect in the advanced. He was doing everything earlier than should have been possible, and with a chuckle, he wondered if he would create his inner world at the mythic class.

A chuckle escaped his lips at the thought, but his happiness died an instant later when an agonized roar snapped him out of his daydreams. His gaze snapped upward immediately, eyes wide as he felt Varéc's pain in his spirit.

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

Horror dawned in his mind, and without conscious thought, Aodhán moved, tearing through the ice dome as if it were made of paper. The fact that he had just jumped fifteen meters in height barely registered in his mind as a storm platform materialized beneath his feet to keep him from falling.

His gaze landed on the storm roiling above, and he faltered, eyes wide as he took in the colossal storm Varéc had summoned. It covered the entire sky, far more powerful than any he could have summoned at the peak of the evolved class.

Despite not creating it himself, Aodhán felt in total control of the storm, and as he began moving toward the sound of Varéc's cry, he felt the resonance of his aspect grow within him.

Winds buffeted him, recognizing him as an ally rather than an enemy. Thunder boomed to welcome him. Lightning arced, and the pouring rain shifted away from him, forming a space around him without rain like an umbrella.

It was a welcome like Aodhán had never experienced before, but he was completely unable to appreciate it, his mind fixed solely on Varéc, eyes frantically searching the skies in desperation.

His gaze landed on Varéc a moment later, and his entire body lit up in fury—literally—as he watched his familiar, barely a quarter of his original size, battling a horde of winged creatures all on his own.

They swarmed his sinuous form, tearing, biting, and slashing at him from every angle. Hundreds of them attacking all at the same time. More circled above, shrieking and cawing with the thrill of bloodlust, ready to join their comrades in tearing Varéc to pieces.

The rage that erupted within Aodhán in that moment was white-hot.

It detonated within him like a physical thing, so loud it rocked the entire area and burned the clouds around him to mist. The storm froze in that instant, sensing the rage that had just awakened within Aodhán.

The rain fell slower. The wind stilled, and Aodhán's jaw clenched tightly, lightning crawling across his skin like veins of molten rage.

His eyes lifted to the storm above—cold, silent.

And then he moved.

The platform exploded behind him as he launched himself forward, not like a man, but like a bullet. The winged horde didn't even see him coming. Not until he reached them. Not until the sky screamed, and the storm tore open with his will, a hundred jagged lances of condensed lightning striking down with precision guided by blazing fury.

The first creature to fall never even had time to scream before its chest burst open midair as lightning shattered bone and cauterized muscle. In an instant, dozens of the winged beasts were vanquished, their bodies exploding in a shower of blood, viscera, and torn tissue.

The remaining beasts turned to flee immediately, but Aodhán wasn't about to let that happen.

Hundreds of lightning spears struck down from the storm once again, killing the beasts before they could leave the area. Bodies exploded and wings tore off, bone and feathers falling to the earth below, trailing smoke.

Birds cawed in fury, gargoyles roared, and seeing that Aodhán wasn't about to let them flee, they rushed toward him—a fury of claws, talons, and teeth. But Aodhán was unfazed by their numbers.

He moved through them like death itself—no wasted motion, no hesitation. His hands pulsed with raw chaos, and every time he reached out, a creature was ripped apart.

One got too close. Aodhán caught it by the throat. Lightning surged from his palms—not the usual crackle, but a concentrated charge hot enough to melt iron. The creature thrashed once. Aodhán crushed its throat. Blood sprayed in crimson arcs.

A large bird shrieked and turned to flee once more, but Aodhán refused to let it get away. He extended a hand and ripped the moisture from its lungs instinctively. The bird choked mid-flight, its body convulsing violently as it dropped to the earth like stone.

Aodhán didn't stop until he killed every single beast with wings, burning some alive and tearing others to pieces. By the time he killed the last creature, his entire body was drenched and dripping with blood, but he barely even noticed, his gaze finding Varéc immediately.

"Are you alright?" he asked, his voice booming out like thunder.

Varéc roared weakly in response, too tired to even celebrate Aodhán's advancement, and without a sound, he vanished into Aodhán's spirit, purring in pleasure at the amount of chaos swirling within.

Aodhán felt the full extent of Varéc's injuries in that moment, and his rage doubled.

He looked down at the blood on his palms, rage surging within him, then turned his gaze to the horde below, stormlight burning around him and water circling his legs.

The horde below had noticed him.

How could they not after the explosion that had rocked the entire area a few minutes earlier?

Thousands of them had their gazes turned upward, claws and teeth bared in aggression, daring him to come down. To lower himself to a height where they could easily pick him off.

Aodhán smiled. But it wasn't a smile of joy. It was cold, wordless, and predatory.

A storm never stooped. It reigned supreme, pouring down its wrath on the earth below.

He was the storm, and it was time to rain down his wrath.

He raised a hand to the storm, and the clouds churned. The air turned heavy. The sky wept freely, pouring down rain in sheets. And in that moment, guided by an instinct he could not recognize, Aodhán brought his hands down in judgment.

He didn't quite know what he was doing, but when the resonance of his aspect reached a crescendo in his mind, Aodhán knew he was doing the right thing.

There was no skill. No technique. No understanding of what he was truly doing.

Only the force of his will, and the storm answered with release.

The sky broke open and the water fell—not as rain, but as a collapse, a sudden massive deluge unleashed all at once like the heavens had been holding it back until that exact moment.

The flood struck the ground with a thunderous clap.

Monsters shrieked. Some tried to run. Some buried themselves underground. More were swallowed.

A flood surged outward from the point of impact, rolling across the horde like a rising tide and consuming everything in its path—mud, stone, flesh, bone—none of it mattered against such an overwhelming deluge.

The flood climbed over it all, and every creature whose affinity couldn't provide them shelter drowned as the flood crushed them beneath weight and motion.

Willpower drained out of Aodhán's core like a flood, and he knew he would be incredibly weak by the time this was all over, but he refused to stop. The cultists had made their statement with the tribulation. This was his response, and he would make it as brutal as possible.

Pulling deeper on his aspect of water, Aodhán pressed down with the force of his spirit, increasing the weight of the roaring flood. It smashed the ice dome Daruk had created to pieces and swept across the land turbulently, sweeping away screeching monsters, stealing their breath and drowning them in its depths.

He moved a hand, weaving it through the air fluidly as if he were playing invisible keys of music. But he wasn't guiding the storm. Instead, it guided him, teaching him how to wield this new power he had gained.

The flood flowed where it willed, responding neither to emotion nor command, but it was all right. His control over the aspect would increase as he refined it.

Beneath him, the horde struggled. Some fought to remain afloat. Others clung to the bloated bodies of dead comrades, only to be pulled under, their screams fading as water clogged their throats and lungs.

Bloated corpses floated to the surface of the flood with each passing second. Blood painted the water. Screams died. And as the flood carried away the last of the panicked screams, Aodhán finally lowered his arms, breathing heavily as he looked down on the destruction he had wrought.

High up in the sky, Aodhán cut a magnificent figure. His entire body burned with quintessence and the force of his spirit. Chaos churned around him turbulently, so much so that it was manifested in the physical, visible to the naked eye.

His eyes shone golden like small suns. The storm fell quiet above him, and with the vestiges of his willpower, Aodhán slowly lowered himself to a single thick dome of ice standing in the middle of the flood.

He staggered to the frozen floor, almost completely drained, managing only a small smile as the dome cracked to reveal Daruk before collapsing into his arms, too tired to even keep his eyes open.

Daruk held onto his brother tightly and raised his eyes to take in the world whose form had been completely altered by the flood. He swallowed slowly in awe and wonder, shocked despite all he knew about Aodhán. But then his brother had always been doing the impossible. It was his strength. It was his gift.

With a slight shudder, Daruk looked back at Aodhán, who was now snoring softly in his arms, and wondered just how powerful Aodhán had become now that he had gained an aspect.

He realized then that no matter how much power he gained as a double inheritor or how much willpower he tamed, there were just some things he would never match Aodhán in, most prominent of which was the strength of his spirit. The weight it bore. The power it bestowed.

He might have vast reserves of willpower, able to fight continuously without tiring, but Aodhán had a spirit so strong it completely rewrote the laws of advancement. This was the true mark of a transmigrant. The true symbol of power.

Daruk smiled at that and raised his eyes to the sky—to the cultists watching—and whispered, "Your turn, Jethro."