The Ascender's Legacy [A CHAOTIC STORM LITRPG]

Arkhan Veldr stood in a garden of lilac phantasms, dotted with frozen statues and a whispering fountain made entirely of ice. The sky above him was a painting of lilac and ice blue, and somewhere in the distance, birds chirped musically, their sounds serving as a background to the beautiful dream.

It was perfect… too perfect for a normal dream.

Arkhan glanced around, searching for that oddity that all dreams usually had—the telltale signs of his mind's haphazard construction. For blurring faces, weird distances, or inverted architectures.

But he found none, and his guard instantly went up. This was no ordinary dream. This was a dream created by one who had control over their dream space. Every single detail had been carefully picked. Carefully arranged. Carefully—

He swiveled, eyes wide as he felt an itch at the base of his neck.

The dreamer was watching him.

Yet he found no one.

Arkhan grimaced in disdain. It was rare for him to stumble across a dreamer with control over their dream space, but whenever it did happen, it was usually annoying.

He should leave right now. That would have been the right call. But Arkhan wasn't the best at making the right decisions. So instead, he began walking around the garden.

Why was he in someone else's dreams? Someone might ask. The answer was simple. He was training.

Ever since his arrival in Abyssos, he'd been working on reaching the dreams of the people he knew—people outside this cursed realm. But his efforts were futile, his range completely limited to the minds within Abyssos.

And of all those minds, only one person dared to sleep in a time as turbulent as this.

Arkhan wanted to know who that person was. So yeah, maybe it wasn't training that had brought him here. Maybe it was plain old curiosity.

But now that he was here, Arkhan refused to leave without knowing who this person was.

Slowly, tauntingly, he walked toward an ice statue and smiled coldly. "I know you're watching me. Reveal yourself."

Nothing.

Arkhan's smile widened, and with a burst of essence, he pushed the statue. "Oops!"

The statue shattered to pieces as it smashed against the ground, ice scattering everywhere before simply vanishing into the air as dream essence.

Still, the dreamer refused to reveal themself.

Arkhan decided to take things up a notch. He walked toward a bush of lilac roses, grabbed a rose stalk, and snapped it in two.

This time there was a reaction. The air warbled, and the dream shuddered but held. The dreamer still didn't reveal themselves. Arkhan's smile widened.

"Won't you show yourself, dear dreamer?" Arkhan called out once more, his voice taunting. "After all the work it took to create this dream, it would be very wrong of me to ruin everything with my clumsiness."

When he received no response once again, Arkhan decided to go for the largest thing within the dream space. The ice fountain.

Like a curious child, he rested a hand against the fountain, tensed his fingers, and—

"If you do that, you die." The dreamer spoke, their voice matter-of-fact. Cold and merciless.

Arkhan stilled, warring against his basest instincts. "I won't do it if you reveal yourself."

At first, there was silence, but it didn't seem to be in contemplation, because a moment later, the dreamer spoke. "I dare you to do it. I want you to know exactly what will happen when you do."

Caution sang through Arkhan like a siren, and after a moment of hesitation, he pulled his hand away from the fountain. That voice didn't sound like that of someone he could mess with.

Grimacing, he stepped away from the fountain, intentionally snapping a lilac bush beneath his feet. "I've changed my mind. I think I prefer the fountain to stand."

"I thought you said it was clumsiness." The dreamer mocked him, and Arkhan felt a surge of rebellion rise within him.

He stretched a hand toward the fountain once again but thought better of it and pulled his hand back. This didn't seem like someone he could mess with. He couldn't die within a dream—he was too powerful for that—but Arkhan would rather not make any more enemies.

Having the cultists as enemies was enough, and so reluctantly, against his base nature, Arkhan began walking away from trouble.

And then the voice came again. "Fascinating."

The dream rippled, colors and sounds bleeding away to reveal a vast ice chamber supported by wide, gleaming pillars. The pillars were made of bluestone, a prestigious material back in Unoros, but it was the symbol at their apex that caught Arkhan's attention.

An ouroboros.

His breath hitched. His eyes widened, and he slowly, fearfully, looked up at the dreamer seated at the chamber's apex, legs crossed and chin resting on one hand. He looked bored—and yet his pupils shone a piercing lilac—so bright they seemed to glow with inner light.

Lilac hair spilled down his shoulders like a river of silk, and on his forehead another ouroboros shone black, sharp in contrast to the dreamer's pale skin.

But this was no mere dreamer, Arkhan realized.

This was a direct descendant of the Rune family—a family of infinity awakeneds so powerful they were second only to the Unorian royal bloodline.

Arkhan wasn't scared of much—not even death itself—but growing up on the streets of Unoros, it was hard not to fear the Runes. People who placed their enemies in infinite loops of torture and simply forgot them there.

And he had just offended one of them.

"Apologies, Lord Rune." Arkhan dropped to a knee immediately, a hundred thoughts racing across his mind. "I… I overstepped."

"Beg me for mercy." The boy replied sultrily, his tone dripping with grim amusement.

Arkhan felt his base nature rear its head at that, but he pushed it down. It didn't matter what a Rune was doing here. It didn't even matter whether he was stronger than the boy himself.

If a Rune was here, then escape wasn't far behind. And the best way to secure that escape for himself was to tie himself to this boy, despite his instincts to burn it all to hell.

Grimacing, he pressed his head against the cold stone floor. "Forgive me, Lord Rune. This one begs for mercy."

"Granted," the boy replied with a bitter grin and gestured for Arkhan to stand. "What is your name, dream walker?"

"Arkhan Veldr, my lord." Arkhan pushed himself to his feet.

"A pleasure to meet you, Arkhan Veldr," the boy responded. "I am Sebastian Rune, the eighth son of High Lord Xylixis Rune, Keeper of Infinite Threads."

Arkhan swallowed nervously at the mention of the High Lord—unable to believe that a descendant of such a powerful man had been captured by cultists—but it certainly explained how he could sleep so soundly in a place like this.

He wasn't threatened at all.

Oh, to be loved and powerful.

Arkhan scowled, hatred brewing in his heart, but he hid it behind a small smile. "How can I be of service, Lord Sebastian? I entered your dream without permission. I should pay for it."

Sebastian Rune quirked an eyebrow at him, his expression slipping back into boredom. "I have already forgiven you, have I not?"

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"I still would like to be of service," Arkhan pressed, and Sebastian sighed.

"Fine. What do you suggest, Arkhan Veldr?"

Arkhan smiled. "There is a bounty on a particular acquaintance of mine. What do you say we make your name known to all the other captives?"

Sebastian scowled. "I do not intend to play the cultists' little games."

"But wouldn't it be fun to ruin them?" Arkhan asked, his smile widening. "With your affinity, you could really make this whole experience entertaining until your family comes to get you."

Sebastian frowned in contemplation, as if the idea had truly not occurred to him at all. And then he smiled. "That's not a bad idea, Arkhan Veldr. That's not a bad idea at all."

His smile stretched coldly, and when his gaze locked with Arkhan's, the boredom in them had vanished, replaced by an impish glee that set Arkhan's baser nature tingling.

Perhaps, he might like this one after all.

***

Back in the rocky plain where Aodhán and his comrades fought, a bloody battle raged as nearly a dozen captives fought to claim their bounty.

Unfortunately for them, Aodhán and his comrades were far from weak. Any hesitation to kill they'd had had long since been buried. Survival first.

Baxter in particular fought against five individuals at once, gravity and cosmic energy rippling around him as he exchanged blows that could crater an entire mountain. Blood and viscera stained the earth beneath him, evidence of those he had killed so far.

Yet the brutality with which he fought paled in comparison to the macabre display of frozen statues and jagged ice spikes Daruk had erected around himself.

It was a horrifying sight, and Aodhán fought a grimace as his gaze swept past it.

But he wasn't innocent either.

The stench of blood and ozone around him was so thick that it caused nostrils to itch. The ground beneath him had been dyed crimson, and yet more hunters came, so blinded by the opportunity to escape that they threw themselves into danger without care.

Aodhán sliced a man to pieces just as he had the thought, his blade morphing back to a palm as he fired a beam of lightning at another hunter. They had blurred together now—he didn't even have time to check their affinity.

He just cut down. And cut down.

The more they rushed at him, the more he cut down.

Varéc's roar served as a backdrop to the entire battle, and though Aodhán couldn't currently see him, he felt Varéc's bloodthirsty excitement like a drumbeat in his mind.

Aodhán grimaced, not out of sympathy for those losing their lives, but because, unlike Varéc, he derived no pleasure from all these killings. He jabbed a man in the throat with his elbow, only for flesh to morph into a lightning blade that sliced off the man's neck.

Blood sprayed. The body vanished. Aodhán's grimace deepened as he was reminded once more of all the power Jethro was gaining from all this bloodshed.

Yet it wasn't the bloodshed that set Aodhán on edge. Nor was it the ever-increasing number of cores he could feel entering his range through core sense.

No.

It was Cyrus Valerion and the oppressive wave of bloodlust spilling out of his core.

The aura of bloodlust surged to cover the entire horizon, filling the air with a crimson haze that blanketed everything in a feeling of deep malice. Aodhán felt his blood pump faster at the sight.

Cyrus had appeared a few minutes ago, and though Aodhán had thought he'd joined the hunt for their bounty, Cyrus had proven him wrong when he'd suddenly pointed a hand at a trio of hunters and slashed down in a sharp motion.

Aodhán still couldn't explain what had happened in that moment. Space had torn, and the three hunters had lost their heads immediately, despite the distance between them.

Aodhán couldn't quite believe that Cyrus was fighting for them, but he certainly wouldn't say no to the help, especially seeing how much more powerful he had become since evolving into the advanced class.

But more than just magical power, Cyrus had gained something he lacked before: conviction—an iron-clad purpose that had transformed him from an annoying noble to a bloodthirsty spatial demon.

And that, Aodhán was scared of.

Their gazes locked, somehow, despite the battle raging around them, and Aodhán tensed, his lightning body instinctively shifting hue from silver to red immediately.

Aodhán didn't trust him one bit.

Cyrus sneered at him, his hatred undeniable.

Tension sparked between them like electricity, so tangible Aodhán could almost taste it. He told himself Cyrus had come back to his senses, that Cyrus had seen the error of his ways and was now an ally.

But all that self-reassurance died when Cyrus teleported.

Aodhán didn't think. Didn't hesitate. He moved, a spear of crackling red electricity surging out of his palms as he tracked Cyrus's core signature like a seasoned hunter.

The spear struck with a boom of thunder, but Cyrus managed to evade it.

Aodhán swiveled immediately, a beam of red electricity already primed to fire. However, despite his new strength and speed, Cyrus was faster.

He appeared beside Aodhán in an instant, sword sweeping out in a purple arc.

Aodhán unleashed the beam and dodged, lightning exploding all around him.

And yet, the blade struck flesh.

Blood spurted in a crimson arc, splashing against Aodhán's face as a severed head flew across his vision, silvery white hair flowing in the wind. It was one of the men he had just killed.

Apparently, they hadn't died well enough.

The man's body fell at his feet an instant later, blood spurting out of his neck stump for a heartbeat before the body and head vanished, taken by the cultists.

"Is there anything you know how to do right?" Cyrus sneered at him, his hatred even more palpable now that he was close.

But Aodhán didn't respond—couldn't respond—too stunned to speak. Fighting for them was one thing, but actively saving his life? That was another level entirely.

Aodhán couldn't believe it.

The same Cyrus who had betrayed him and Daruk, leaving them to fight off a horde of powerful monsters on their own. The same Cyrus that had antagonized him for over six months back at the academy. The same Cyrus, whose hatred for him was as thick as sludge.

That same Cyrus had killed an enemy to protect him.

"Thank y—" He began, but before he could get the words out, Cyrus spat.

"Save your thanks, commoner. I don't need them."

Aodhán blinked and then nodded. "I won't thank you then. Try not to be too bloodthirsty, though; we can't afford to kill everyone off yet. We're barely twenty-four hours into this blasted trial."

Aodhán teleported away after that, leaving Cyrus to glare after him in triggered rage. He didn't understand what was happening with Cyrus, but he was determined to find out. Just as soon as this battle was over.

He turned his gaze to the horizon, a scowl etching itself on his features as he felt two new cores enter his range. Not bothering with their affinities, Aodhán readied himself for battle until the bearers of those two cores appeared.

His eyes widened as he recognized the first person: Arkhan Veldr.

And then he sensed their cores. His gaze came to rest on Arkhan's companion. His heart stuttered.

Infinity—tier 36

"Shit," Aodhán cursed as he took an instinctive step back, but before he could warn the others about the looming danger, the two boys blinked forward, not quite teleporting, yet closing the distance as if they were bending space, time, and reality at the same time.

A distance that should have taken them minutes even by flight was covered in a second.

Aodhán cursed again.

He had never fought an infinity awakened before, nor did he have any idea as to the nature of their skills except from what he had read in comics. But Aodhán readied himself for battle nevertheless.

He would either learn today or die trying.

Lightning sparked around his fingers as the origin plane of storm hummed around him, so close he could almost feel it brushing against his skin, wrapping around him like a hug. Chaos poured into his spirit without him even asking for it, his plane seeking to help him any way it could. Willpower surged within him powerfully, energy, chaos, and quintessence merging within his spirit in preparation to act at the slightest hint of danger.

But the infinity awakened barely even glanced at him as he waved a hand at the chaos unfolding around them, a slight grimace of effort crossing his perfectly sculpted face.

Aodhán felt energy surge within the boy's core powerfully, and with a loud screech, like metal scraping against metal, reality stuttered.

The sky came alive with the iridescence of chaos, and for a heartbeat, Aodhán saw it all—infinite versions of this moment cascading through his vision like fractured glass. In one possibility, he was already dead. In another, Daruk froze the valley over. In a third, Cyrus stood alone, victorious.

The visions came and went so quickly they left him dizzy, but they all had one thing in common. In none of them did the infinity awakened lose his life.

"Fascinating," the boy murmured, his lilac eyes glinting as he navigated the cascade of futures. "Such unnecessary violence. Why don't we… tweak things a little?"

He waved a hand, and Aodhán's eyes widened at the amount of energy that surged out of his core to activate a skill. It was so much that the air around him shimmered and warped like a mirage.

The air solidified. Space flexed. And the battlefield fractured into a dozen overlapping possibilities. Baxter and Daruk's opponents flickered like mirages, their positions unstable and uncertain.

And then—snap—they vanished. Gone as though swallowed by distance.

In only a few seconds, what had been a chaotic battle of dozens became a quiet clearing with only five figures remaining: Aodhán, Baxter, Varéc, Cyrus, and Daruk, all staring open-mouthed at the display of power they had just witnessed.

Aodhán blinked, heart pounding as he witnessed the power of an infinity awakened for the first time. Aodhán wasn't quite sure what the boy had done, but the massive amount of energy he had used to cast the skill was simply mind-blowing.

Where he and Daruk had vast amounts of willpower, this infinity awakened seemed to have vast amounts of energy. Even now, it crackled around him like electricity, and for a heartbeat, Aodhán wondered what would happen if he used {Absorb Energy} on him.

The thought died as quickly as it came as Sebastian's presence sharpened to a razor edge—his smile cold and lifeless like steel given form.

"Much better," Sebastian stated in a measured tone as the energy crackling around him slowly subsided. "Now we can have a proper conversation without all that unnecessary—"

His words died as his gaze fell upon Daruk, his smile collapsing into a frown of confusion and then shock as he took in the icy scales on Daruk's exposed arms.

"That bloodline manifestation... I've seen it before." He whispered, his composure completely cracking in shock and disbelief. He raised his gaze to Daruk's and shook his head. "No, this can't be possible. The Frost Forged Ancestry died out two hundred years ago. How is this possible? Are you Unorian?"

Daruk scowled at the boy, unimpressed and unfazed as he raised a hand to wipe blood from his face. When the blood came off, he glared at the infinity awakened and, in a deadpan tone, asked. "Who are you?"

"He is Sebastian Rune, eighth son of High Lord Xylixis Rune." Arkhan responded as if any of the words he had just said should mean anything to them.

It, however, meant something to Baxter and Cyrus, both of whom nearly staggered in shock.

The infinity awakened ignored them, his gaze fixed on Daruk. "You're not Unorian. But if that is the case, how then do you have…"

His words stuttered to a halt, and his eyes widened further. "The Frozen Death. You inherited her bloodline. You… you are a legacy."

The words were like a bomb in the now silent plain, and everyone's gaze snapped toward Daruk instantly.

Daruk scowled, his gaze narrowing threateningly. "How do you know my patron?"

"No, no," Sebastian shook his head. "The real question is how do you carry the legacy of my great-great-grandmother, Nzinga Al'Arish? She was an inheritor, which means you—" his mouth opened in shock. "You're… you're a double inheritor?"

If the first statement had dropped like a bomb, this one was a nuclear warhead.

And Cyrus certainly wasn't going to survive it.

Already, he looked like he had just seen a ghost.