Book 13: Chapter 68: Unerring Pursuit

Path of Dragons

The waves of the Restless Sea crashed against the Edge of the World, spraying caustic mist across the barren terrain. Above, rivers of violet corruption cut across the dark, featureless sky, casting the entire rocky landscape in a purple tint. Nearby, the brave men and women of the Emerald Guard fought a tumorous monster comprised of pulsing cysts and too many tentacles to count.

Vhalor paid them no mind.

Instead, his attention remained on the sea as he asked, “Are we certain?”

“Yes, blessed one,” answered the obsequious lackey. The woman cringed as she spoke, wringing her hands with obvious anxiety. Even a mortal would have shown more spine, and she was a late ascendent. A non-combatant, certainly, and one who’d only left Ithalon once in her entire life, but still powerful enough not to soil herself at the first sight of a monster.

Via Warrior’s Awareness, he sensed the battle – such as it was – winding down. Despite its size, the monster was no demi-god. As such, it should not have been a difficult opponent to defeat. However, the army still struggled to put it down. Proof that the standards had fallen off an even steeper cliff than the Edge of the World.

Vhalor had known about the falling quality of his army, and for years. But his own pursuit of progression had blinded him to the obviousness of the city’s situation. He’d allowed them too much freedom. He had given them too much agency to choose their own paths.

And now, they’d all paid the price for his distraction.

Ko’rien was now dead. Ithalon was in shambles, and the seeds of rebellion had been planted. The rest of the Synod wouldn’t allow it to grow to fruition. After all, they’d faced nearly a dozen such rebellions over the years. But this one felt different, largely because the fight had already claimed one of their own.

Ko’rien had never been a particularly powerful woman, but her connection to the World Tree had guaranteed her a place of prominence. Without a demi-god’s protection, the Branch was vulnerable. The new Envoy would take decades to reach her level, and even then, her evolved class would be tainted by the corruption.

It progressed more and more each day, a reminder that everyone on Gorveth was living on borrowed time. Even if it took centuries for the Branch to fully succumb, that future was written. Their only hope lay in escape.

And to do that, Vhalor needed to advance. He needed to become a deity.

He had long since reached the appropriate level, and he’d compiled enough of a Legacy to give him at least one option. The same could not be said for the rest of the Synod, who, despite reaching the point where they should’ve already advanced, had been provided no opportunity by the Branch.

Vhalor had always been different from the others. Better, and in every way. His cultivation was more advanced, his ascended and demi-god classes rarer. He had even ventured out into the corrupted wilderness alone, and he’d spent years fighting for his very life against monsters that would have killed most of the other members of the Synod with barely a cross look.

And yet, he remained a demi-god.

As the army finished the monster off, Vhalor glanced at his lone option to advance. It was always there, hovering just at the edge of his awareness. Taunting him with its power. One simple acknowledgement, and he could escape Gorveth and leave the death trap of the excised world behind. And one day, he would advance to the transcendent tier, as his heritage dictated.

Class: Abyssal Knight

The Abyssal Knight is a crusader, though not one whose faith rests on the shoulders of an outside force. Instead, his faith is focused inward because he knows the truth. This is a minor deviation from the [Blackguard] class.

Required Archetype:

Warrior

Required Class:

Blackguard

Required Legacy:

Rare (within the constraints of the Demi-God Realm)

Attributes Gained Per Level

STR

DEX

CON

ETH

REG

111

91

The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

141

32

79

The first indication that it was no normal class lay in the fact that it possessed no rarity. His father had warned him of that. Just before he fled into the abyss, the original Emerald Tyrant had been faced with a similar choice. And thinking he could overcome the obvious taint of the abyss, he’d accepted the offered class.

He had lasted less than a year before he was forced to escape. Part of his decision was based on the planet’s inability to support such a powerful entity. It was the same reason there weren’t deity- or transcendent-tier monsters running around on the surface of the planet. Certainly, there were a few deities in the depths of the ocean and the upper atmosphere was full of them, but the surface was incapable of supporting them.

For people, it was slightly different. Vhalor’s father could have endured for a much longer span of time, if not comfortably. Ultimately, the lacking density of ambient ethera wasn’t what drove him away.

No – it was the corruption.

Or rather, what it had done to him.

The last time Vhalor saw his father, he had seen the beginnings of something truly horrible. By that point, Vhalor had grown accustomed to the sight of mutations. They were just part of living in Ithalon, and unlike most of the other members of the Synod, he didn’t look down on those who’d been afflicted by the deformities. Instead, he understood that they were just a natural consequence of living in the abyss.

But what he saw of his father had shocked him to his core.

If Vhalor had seen such a creature out in the wilderness, he would have assumed it was some sort of bipedal monster composed of writhing, rubbery flesh. The sight only lasted for an instant before it was replaced by an illusion, but Vhalor would never forget the sheer horror of it.

His father had fled the planet only a few weeks later.

They’d had parades. They had celebrated his departure. They all believed he would find a way out of the abyss, then return to show them the appropriate path. Some people still believed it now, though most had forgotten that Emerald Tyrant was just a title passed from father to son.

Even back then, having barely achieved ascendency, Vhalor had known the truth. He still knew it. His father hadn’t left to seek help. Nor did he ever intend to return. No – he’d left Gorveth because he was terrified of what he would do if he stayed.

That hunger in his eyes. The need to consume poisoning his core. It was all-encompassing. His father hadn’t just taken a class. He had surrendered to the abyss. To the influence of the Ravener. And it had begun to overwhelm him.

Would he become a monster in truth? An unthinking creature who thought of nothing but consumption?

Vhalor had no idea. He liked to believe that his father was still out there. Corrupted, but still himself. Perhaps he still believed he would save Gorveth.

But in the back of his mind, he recognized the naivete of such a belief. His father was gone. He’d left more than a thousand years ago. If he intended to return, he already would have.

It was only a century before the rest of the Synod fell prey to that same choice. Vhalor had tried to warn them, but by that point, he was just a new demi-god. They didn’t believe him. Not until it was too late to turn back.

Over the years since, it had become common knowledge amongst the world’s demi-gods that their paths ended there. A few had succumbed to the temptation. There were even whispers that the corrupted were not corrupted at all, and that leaving Gorveth was just a natural consequence of gaining too much power for the planet to support.

Vhalor had tried to quash such ideas. More than a century past, he’d even destroyed a cult dedicated to the notion. But ever had the temptation of power held sway over the weak-minded. Some were incapable of resisting.

Over the years, Vhalor had replaced the Synod with those loyal to him. They remained subordinate, but he had heard whispers of dissent. Those whispers had become much louder since Ko’rien’s death.

Soon, he would need to put them down and start anew.

He’d known them all for hundreds of years, and yet, he would do what he needed to do. Because if one of them did become a deity and refused to leave, then everything would end.

He resisted the urge to sigh as he felt the monster finally succumb to the army’s efforts. Even as they hacked the creature apart, one of the scouts approached. Even without an active ability, the woman’s presence was barely detectible.

She clapped a fist over her leather-armored chest, then bowed. She didn’t rise until he commanded her to report.

Rising, she said, “Thirty-two miles to the east, there is a protected cove. There, we have found a small fleet of ships.”

Vhalor didn’t need her description to know that they had found the famed Sailor Furik M’huel. There were other thrill-seekers out there who braved the ocean, but most of them died well before they reached any appreciable level of power.

Only Furik managed to survive, and for more than a century. According to the Synod’s spies, the man had long since reached the mid-tier of the demi-god stage. And what’s more, he was the only person powerful – or reckless – enough to brave the Restless Sea.

Vhalor gave the order for his army to surround the cove, and the second they completed their butchery, they set off. Ten thousand soldiers, each one chosen because they were the best of the best. And yet, Vhalor wondered if they would be enough.

The previous forces he’d sent had all failed to bring the settlement to heel, and as a result, his people had been led on a chase across the entire continent. Even Vhalor, with all his infinite patience, found the entire thing frustrating in the extreme.

Yet, he refused to show it.

He accompanied the army across the terrain, marveling at just how deserted the land had become. Once, it had been impossible to travel more than a mile without drawing an attack. Now, they barely saw monsters a couple of times each day. And most of those were only moderately powerful.

Something was going on, and Vhalor was determined to find the source of the change. He wasn’t so naïve as to believe that it had nothing to do with those vitality pulses that had become so common. But even now, years after they’d begun, no one had discovered the cause.

Due to their high degree of organization, the army managed to reach the cove in only an hour, and not long after that, they had the area surrounded.

Vhalor himself stepped forward, calling out, “Furik!”

“What do you want, you overgrown fraud?” came a shout from the stern of the largest ship. It was moored a few dozen feet into the cove.

“Insults?”

“The last time we met, you tried to break my ship!” Furik yelled. He wore his mutations like they were a disgusting point of pride.

“I come in peace,” Vhalor stated, spreading his arms wide.

“And I’m a floating rock!” countered Furik. “You see how ridiculous that sounds? That’s you! There’s not a peaceful bone in your body!”

Vhalor gritted his teeth behind his helmet. If the man had said such things on land, he would have been slaughtered in an instant. But out there? On his own ship? He possessed the unquestioned authority that came with a powerful domain.

So, Vhalor measured his tone before asking, “Did you transport a group of traitors across the Restless Sea?”

“Perhaps.”

That was as good as an admission.

“Are you available for hire?”

“Well,” said Furik. “That depends.”

“On what?”

“The fee.”

Vhalor wanted to smile. “I think we can come to an arrangement,” he stated evenly. Then, to one of the nearby scouts, he ordered, “Go back to Ithalon. Gather the entire army.” He summoned a small coin from his spatial storage and handed it to the scout. She took it reverently, as if it was some holy artifact. “Take this to your patron, and give him this message.”

With that, he handed over a scrap of folded parchment. It bore a wax seal.

Vhalor had composed it days before, when it had become clear that their problems couldn’t be solved by a single member of the Synod. It was a call to battle, and for every surviving member. The trail had been obvious from the very beginning, and now that he’d had it confirmed, the path was clear.

On the other side of the Restless Sea, he’d find the answers he sought and the refugees that had defied his will. More importantly, he would find the bestial enemy that had killed Ko’rien and managed to escape his clutches.