The Ascender's Legacy [A CHAOTIC STORM LITRPG]

While Daruk and Sebastian talked, the amphitheater was fraught with tension as everyone watched the transmigrant and his friends sit patiently in the valley, talking among themselves, instead of fighting for their lives.

Jethro was understandably livid.

"Why is no one attacking?" he demanded furiously, frustration etched deep into his features as he glared at the screens. "And those powerful harvests, why didn't they show up? Any of them could have wiped out this bunch in a blink, but they ignored the bounty. Why would they do that?"

"I… I have no idea, Fated," the lead handler responded cautiously. "Perhaps they thought we wouldn't fulfill our part of the bounty."

"Of course, we wouldn't!" Jethro scowled. "But that's not for them to think."

He glared back at the screen, his scowl deepening into a sneer when he saw the ice-awakened laugh. Laugh!

"That's it," Jethro snapped. "I can't take this any longer. We must do something. It is time for drastic measures."

"What… what sort of measures, sir?" The lead handler asked, his gaze instinctively darting to the first elder. "Should we increase the number of monsters in the realm or increase the average tier of the monsters?"

"Neither." Jethro shook his head. "We must take it higher. Much higher."

Shock rippled across the amphitheater, and the first elder, Elder Connor, quickly spoke. "Fated, there is a limit to how far we can tweak Abyssos. Our control over the realm isn't absolute."

But Jethro was barely listening. How could he place a bounty on a person and have the major players of the realm refuse to partake? It was an insult to him, but more than that, it was an insult to Sárán Béithir.

He would not stand for it. He couldn't stand for it. He had to do something to strike fear into their hearts and bring them firmly under his control.

His mind raced as he created and discarded ideas, and a moment later, his anger faded into a cold smile.

The problem with the bounty was glaringly obvious—the first level of Abyssos was too easy. The monsters were too weak, and the climate too mild. Because of that, the captives had grown complacent, unthreatened by his warnings to the point where they could simply ignore his directives.

Well, that was an easy problem to solve.

Shifting on his throne, Jethro commanded. "Destroy the realm."

His words dropped like a stone into still water, and every eye in the amphitheater turned to him in alarm.

"What?" Elder Connor exclaimed, his composure cracking. "We cannot do that, Fated. We lack both the authority and the power to—"

"I didn't mean the entire realm, Connor," Jethro cut him off with a dismissive wave. "I meant the first level of Abyssos. This realm is no longer a sufficient threat. It's time we escalated things to the next level."

"But… it's thirty hours ahead of schedule," the lead handler stammered. "The Watchers' protocols clearly state—"

"The Watchers do not micromanage the harvest," Jethro interrupted coldly. "They have more important things to do than monitoring my power accumulation. Now do as I command. I'm tired of watching the transmigrant grow stronger despite our efforts. Things must change before he accumulates even more power."

The elders exchanged uneasy glances before nodding reluctantly. With them in agreement, the handlers had no choice but to comply. At a nod from the lead handler, the other handlers began scurrying about, adjusting consoles and recalibrating systems to carry out the first level's destruction.

Silence settled over the amphitheater as the handlers went to work. Before the lead handler could initiate the destruct sequence, however, Jethro spoke again, his voice tight with anticipation.

"Make the exodus as difficult as possible for the transmigrant. Handicap him. If he dies during the transition, then it would be worth it."

Another ripple of dissatisfaction swept through the amphitheater, and the lead handler hesitated once again. "But… sir, we can only do so much to hinder the transmigrant without sentencing everyone else to death."

Jethro's grimace deepened. That was true. The transmigrant was too resourceful. But Jethro would be damned to let him go so easily. He had to bring him to heel one way or the other.

Tightening his fists around his throne, he commanded. "Then eliminate his skills. Anything that has to do with spatial travel or reality manipulation. Eliminate flight and the use of any movement skills. Even constructs shut it all down. I want him to either run or die."

"That's impossible, sir," the handler exclaimed, his voice nearly drowned out by the murmurs of the elders. "We cannot eliminate the skills of anyone within Abyssos."

Jethro breathed through his nose, frustration mounting as he glared at the infuriating handler. "Then suppress it."

"I… we—" The handler stuttered, eyes wide in panic as Jethro fixed him with a sharp glare. He was trying to oppose him again. What an infuriating character.

However, Jethro soon discovered that the handler wasn't the only infuriating character within the room, because when the handler finally lost his ability to speak, the first elder rose from his throne like a father about to scold a son.

"We cannot suppress the ability of anyone in Abyssos. We do not have that much control over the realm. The most we can do is eliminate the functioning of specific abilities within Abyssos, but even doing so risks destabilizing the entire structure of Abyssos."

"Not to mention that you're openly showing your hatred for the transmigrant." The second elder, Elder Basilea, stood up, and Jethro's grip on his throne tightened in rage. What was the meaning of all this opposition? What was the point of being Fated if he would be this constrained?

Anger churned within him. His eyes darkened, and his smile became as sharp as a blade. "What then would you suggest, Elder Basilea? How would you suggest we move forward?"

"I… we—" The elder in question stuttered before finally finding her voice. "If we are going to eliminate specific abilities, then I suggest we do so for everyone so your hatred for the transmigrant is not too obvious."

"Then that's what we'll do!" Jethro replied with fake exuberance and glanced back at the lead handler. "Shut it down for everyone."

Yet, the handler hesitated. Jethro was tempted to burn him to ashes on the spot. "What is it now?!"

The handler slammed his head against the floor. "My deepest apologies, Fated. But we cannot suppress abilities on such a scale without destabilizing Abyssos's entire structure."

"Then make them pay to use it," Jethro gritted out, eyes closed as he tried to control his anger. "I don't care how you accomplish it. I just want him handicapped."

The handlers exchanged uncertain glances, unsure how to proceed with such an unprecedented request, until another voice cut through their deliberation.

Bane Helsarin rose from his seat and locked eyes with the Fated. "I believe you've struck upon a brilliant solution, Fated. Rather than outright suppressing these abilities, we can extract payment for their use. Or better yet, bind them with debt. That way, the captives can no longer ignore your directives. They'll be bound to fulfill them."

Jethro fixed Bane with a long, piercing glare before his expression twisted into a cold, predatory smile. He crooked a finger, beckoning Helsarin forward. "What an inspired suggestion, Devotee. Come, stand beside me. You've proven yourself far more valuable than these hidebound elders."

The elders exchanged glances but said nothing as Bane Helsarin practically ran forward, ignoring their stares and that of his envious colleagues as he passed them by to take his place at the Fated's side.

Jethro leaned back into his throne in satisfaction, and his smile widened. "Do it, handlers. Let's see how he plans to survive the destruction of a world."

***

Back in Abyssos, Aodhán was discussing their next move with Baxter and Arkhan when the alarm blared again. This time, however, it was louder—a shrill scream that tore into his eardrums like a dagger, putting a swift end to all discussions.

Daruk and Sebastian looked back in alarm and quickly teleported to join them. When they arrived, Daruk asked. "What's going on? There's something different about that alarm."

They didn't have to wait long to find out, because a moment later, another crimson screen appeared before them all, except this time, it wasn't a bounty.

It was a warning of imminent destruction.

3 HOURS TO COMPLETE REALM DESTRUCTION.

PROCEED TO EXIT PORTAL IMMEDIATELY.

Any use of spatial travel, reality or time warping, flight, movement constructs, or movement abilities will invoke an OATH-SWORN DEBT to the Fated. Payment terms:TO BE DETERMINED.

RUN TO THE PORTAL OR PERISH IN THE COLLAPSE.

Aodhán stared at the message in shock, unable to believe the lengths the cultists were willing to go just to eliminate him. An oath-sworn debt was a clever way to limit them without directly saying so.

Without teleportation, Sebastian's reality warping, flight, and floating constructs, they were practically glued to the ground, cursed to walk a distance that… He looked up, and his expression tightened in a grimace when he saw a beam of light, which he assumed to be the exit portal, appear in the distance.

A distance so far, he could barely make it out.

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"We're screwed," Daruk cursed. "How do they expect us to make it there in three hours? On foot?"

"They don't," Aodhán replied, shaking his head. "They want us to fail and become desperate enough to take their help. To teleport at the last second and owe an oath-sworn debt. And we all know what that means for our plans to escape this cursed realm."

His words drove the intentions of the cultists home, and Baxter grimaced. "If that's the case, then we have to start running immediately."

Aodhán shook his head. "Running is a great idea, but that's exactly what the cultists want us to do. We need to do something unpredictable." His gaze hardened as he turned to Sebastian. "You said you're a paralleler. In all the timelines you can see, is there any one in which we survive this?"

Sebastian paused, surprised by the question, and then he smiled as an idea rose in his mind. His lilac gaze grew unfocused as he peered into threads of possibilities, and after a moment of tense silence, he responded, "Yes. There are a few in which we make it to the exit on time. But the chances shift depending on how we move."

"Which gives us the highest chance?" Daruk asked urgently, brows furrowed.

Sebastian let out a measured smile and lied through his teeth. "In all the possibilities I see, we have the highest chances if we split up."

"What? How?" Aodhán asked in confusion. "Shouldn't our chances be greater if we stick together?"

They were, but that didn't serve Sebastian's motives at all. He shook his head. "No. There are certain problems we'll avoid if we split up."

That was true too. The storm awakened was a problem, and if they traveled together, they would experience more roadblocks and barely make it on time.

But they would make it regardless. That wasn't the only reason Sebastian wanted to separate the brothers.

He had other self-serving reasons, and if the storm awakened agreed—

"Okay." Aodhán agreed. "If splitting up gives us the best chance of making it, then that's what we'll do."

Sebastian barely suppressed a grin as he began splitting them up. "I'll go with Daruk and Arkhan. Aodhán, you go with Baxter. That gives us the best chance of survival."

It was perfect. However, there was one variable he hadn't considered. Daruk's loyalty to his brother. That loyalty ripped through his plan like a knife as Daruk instantly refused.

"No," Daruk's voice cut sharp as he shook his head, eyes hard and jaw set. "I'm not leaving my brother. Which probability where I stay with him gives us the best chance?"

Aodhán smiled, pride flickering in his eyes despite the situation.

Sebastian's expression, however, tightened, and he grimaced. "There are a few such probabilities, but their chances are very low. Single digits. I understand the bond between brothers. But clinging to Aodhán won't get you to the exit portal faster."

"It doesn't matter." Daruk shook his head. "As long as we have a chance of making it, then we will. You go with Baxter and Arkhan. Aodhán and I will make it on our own."

"No!" Sebastian kicked against the idea immediately. How was he supposed to forge a better bond with Daruk if they didn't go through the next three hours together?

Glaring at them all, he waved a hand and displayed a cascade of images showing threads of failure. In most, Aodhán and Daruk took the oath. In the rest, one of them died.

It worked perfectly.

Aodhán grimaced. "None of these probabilities seem particularly charming." He glanced at Daruk and smiled. "It's just three hours, Daruk. I'll find you again in the second level."

Sebastian nodded sagely. "Aodhán is right. We must split up, and quickly. We do not have time on our side!"

"No, we do not." Baxter replied gravely as he wiped a bead of sweat from his brow. "Whether we are splitting up or going together, we need to decide quickly. In case you boys haven't noticed, the temperature is rising."

They all looked around then and realized that Baxter was right. The temperature was indeed rising, and quickly. Their time was ticking.

Yet, Daruk hesitated, his eyes hard as he asked. "What's our highest chance of survival if we move as a group?"

Sebastian sighed in annoyance. "Fifteen percent. Maybe less."

He expected Daruk to snap back to his senses at the mention of such a low probability.

Instead, Daruk smiled widely, his hard expression melting in the face of such abysmal odds. "Then we'll go together. We have overcome situations with even lesser odds. We can do this."

Aodhán glanced at him and smiled. "Yes, we can. We've subverted fate before. What's one more time?"

"Great," Baxter began moving. "Now that we've decided, let's go."

Without hesitation, they began packing everything of value around them. While they did that, Sebastian gritted his teeth in annoyance. They would of course make it, even together, but it was annoying how Daruk had frustrated his plans.

His gaze locked with Arkhan, who was staring at him with a faint, knowing smile, and he scowled. "What is it?"

"Nothing, Master Rune," Arkhan replied in a tone that hinted that there was really something. "Nothing at all."

The group came together a moment later, and without hesitation, they began moving, running speedily toward the exit. However, after about half an hour of running, it soon became obvious that they were slowing Baxter down.

"Leave us!" Aodhán shouted to the cosmic awakened. "Go, Baxter. We'll meet you."

Baxter hesitated for a moment before nodding. "Make sure you do. You still owe me, Aodhán Brystion."

He dashed forward after that, his silhouette a blur as he raced past the rocky ground at twice the speed they were running. Aodhán summoned a storm cloud to protect them from the rising heat, and Daruk unleashed his aura to cool them.

They ran for fifteen minutes in blissful quiet after Baxter left.

But Aodhán should have known things wouldn't be so simple.

Just as they were hitting their stride, having covered over a dozen kilometers of the seemingly endless distance, the earth began to shudder—a low, ominous growl that vibrated through their boots and rattled their teeth. Dust and debris trembled from the ground, and before they could fully register it, a wall of screeching creatures erupted over the horizon, charging toward them with terrifying speed.

Aodhán cursed at the sight, eyes narrowing as he raised a hand to the storm above in preparation for battle.

How they were supposed to fight this horde and make it to the exit on time, he had no idea.

***

Cyrus arrived at the top of an ice-capped mountain a few seconds before the alarm blared, Spatial Scan spreading out to engulf the area as a precautionary measure. At first, he found nothing, but then he felt static as his senses crossed over what seemed to be a barrier of energy.

His frown deepened, but before he could activate Invasive Spatial Scan, the alarm blared shrilly, echoing with a promise of disaster.

Cyrus paused, expression bitter as he waited for another bounty screen to appear.

What appeared, however, was a warning of imminent disaster, and Cyrus felt a pinprick of disappointment. He would have loved to see Aodhán suffer more to ease his own pain.

That disappointment quickly morphed into anger when he read the screen's content about an oath-bound debt.

"Fucking cultists," he growled, annoyance bubbling within him once again. "How am I supposed to get to the exit portal without teleportation?"

He looked up and saw the beam of light in the distance—so far he couldn't possibly get there in three hours unless he ran nonstop. Cyrus blanched at the distance and only managed to stop himself from instinctively teleporting to shorten it.

"Why did I have to teleport all the way here?" he scolded himself as he hastily began climbing down the mountain. Ever since his awakening, Cyrus couldn't remember going anywhere without shortening the distance with teleportation. Yet now, he had to travel several miles on foot.

Grumbling, he forced himself to move without teleporting, mentally reciting the mantra: Don't dare teleport. Don't dare do it—lest he incur a debt he couldn't afford.

He reached the base of the mountain quickly. However, he'd barely begun to run more than a few meters before a feminine voice called out to him from above, "Wait for me, please."

He looked back, a scowl already in place as he prepared to tell the person off, but the words died on his lips as his gaze landed on a woman with raven-dark hair and irises as dark as midnight. The woman was tall, only a bit shorter than he was, and merely looking at her, he could already tell she was Calodan.

Even panicked, she carried herself with a grace that was most ladylike, bare feet tapping against the mountainside as if she were dancing. A slight aura of azure energy swirled around her—too weak to be a threat, yet strong enough to make her formidable.

She was exceedingly beautiful, and when she spoke again, Cyrus couldn't have resisted even if he'd tried.

"What's your name?" He asked when she reached him, but she didn't seem to hear him as she grabbed his arm, shouting, "Come on, Cyrus. We must run. Time is not on our side."

Cyrus shook his head clear of the haze and followed her, dodging rocky outcroppings as they raced toward the exit portal. With all the tension and excitement of the moment, Cyrus never questioned how this strangely beautiful woman knew his name.

***

Seojun Sōsei stumbled backward as the last of the Skritters collapsed, its chitinous body cracking against the rocky ground with a wet, final sound. His chest heaved with exhaustion, sweat and blood mixing on his torn priestly robes as he wiped a trembling hand across his face.

Around him, the aftermath of battle painted a grisly scene. Severed insectoid limbs, razor-sharp mandibles, and torn wing fragments lay scattered among the dismembered remains of the nest he'd just stumbled from, the debris still slick with viscera from a telekinetic blast he had unleashed earlier.

His mind felt raw, stretched thin from maintaining a constant flow of mental energy for more than eight hours. Ever since he'd arrived in this cursed realm, he had been fighting constantly. Not for a second had he rested—he was either worrying about his sisters or fighting to keep his head attached to his neck.

"By Aeloria," he cursed, tearing off the sleeve of his priestly robes to wipe the grime from his face. He collapsed to the ground after that, utterly exhausted and more than grateful for the moment of rest.

The silence that followed was almost worse than the screeching of the creatures. In the quiet, his thoughts immediately turned back to his sisters—where were they? Were they safe? Were they still alive?

The fear that had been gnawing at him throughout the battle resurged with renewed intensity, filling his mind like a mental torment. He wasn't too worried for himself. He was in the advanced class and could take care of himself. His sisters, however, were still in the evolved class, with absolutely no battle experience. They would be eaten alive if he didn't find them soon.

He couldn't afford to rest.

Pushing his weary body back to its feet, Seojun raised his head to the sky and unleashed a faint pulse of mental energy in search of familiar mental signatures. It wasn't true telepathy—at the 28th tier, he could barely sense the presence of minds nearby, let alone communicate across vast distances. But it was his only hope to find his sisters.

By Aeloria, his luck could strike a chord. He just had to keep pushing and wait for the goddess to show him mercy.

The effort sent fresh waves of exhaustion through his already battered consciousness, but he pushed harder, straining to feel any trace of familiar mental signatures in the immediate area.

Mira? Yuna?

Nothing. Either they were too far away, or his mind was too depleted to reach them.

"Ascendants help me," Seojun shuddered from exhaustion as he pushed his body forward with sheer determination, trekking across the uneven terrain toward higher ground where his mental pulse might reach farther. He'd barely covered a dozen meters when the blasted alarm shrieked again.

The sound tore into his already frayed nerves like a dagger, sending a jolt of pain straight through his skull. His concentration shattered, the faint mental pulse dissolving as he stumbled and nearly fell.

"By the sun," he cursed as another crimson screen materialized before him, its harsh light reflecting off the pools of blood at his feet. He was tempted to ignore it at first, uninterested in claiming a bounty when his sisters were still missing.

The moment his gaze landed on the first sentence, however, he realized he had lost his race against time.

3 HOURS TO COMPLETE REALM DESTRUCTION.

PROCEED TO EXIT PORTAL IMMEDIATELY.

His knees nearly buckled as he read the words. Three hours. That was all he had left to find his sisters and make it back to the exit portal. He looked up and swallowed hard when he saw how far the exit portal was.

He could probably reach it if he began moving toward it now, but his sisters... he couldn't just leave them here. He couldn't run toward safety when they could be dying somewhere, their bodies hacked to pieces by hateful savages.

But even if he left to find his sisters and eventually found them, they would never make it back to the portal in time. The impossible choice paralyzed him, and for a heartbeat, Seojun stood frozen, torn between the desperate need to find his sisters and the growing certainty that he was running out of time.

His gaze darted between the known location of the exit portal and the endless horizon behind him, heart bleeding as emotions surged through him.

"Aeloria, please," he begged, tears flowing down his face as he struggled to make a decision. "I can't leave them here, and yet I can't stay. What do I do? Answer me, please. Speak to me, please. Aeloria!" His voice cracked. "I'm begging you. Give me direction, please."

But his prayers went unanswered. Unheard.

Tears streamed down his face freely until the heat of the sun began to rise, reminding him of how little time he had left. Every second he spent here was a second less he had to reach safety.

He struggled for a moment longer, but when the heat began rising from the earth—when the realm itself began preparing for destruction—Seojun realized he had no choice left.

With a choked sob of frustration and terror, Seojun forced himself to turn away from his search, his legs trembling as he began to run toward the distant beacon of the exit portal. Each step took him farther from where his sisters might be, each stride a betrayal of everything he believed himself to be.

Behind him, the skritter nest began to smolder as the heat intensified. Ahead of him lay a desperate race against time and the growing certainty that he might never see his sisters again.

Of what use were gods who never answered prayers?