Chapter 95. The Meaning of Despair (Patreon)

[this one is long;  tempted to spill it into 2 chapters but decided to not be evil xD]

Ian braced himself for another round of artillery fire, his hands holding tightly to the handlebars of the aeropoint. Ko’la’s hands overlapped with Ian’s somewhat, the handlebars unable to accommodate two hand-widths.

Ian heard Wolfien’s voice sound in his ears: “Everyone, brace for a second round in 3, 2, 1!”

Ko’la’s hands left the handlebars and clapped together. In the blink of an eye, a sphere expanded out, encompassing everyone in a protective black yoke. Ian felt familiar vibrations all throughout his body as though his every bone and organ were resonating. The sensation became acutely painful and Ian felt his eardrums burst. He felt as though he was falling into fathomless water, unable to breathe or see, his body on the cusp of rupture.

The Dark egg retracted; Ian took in a deep breath and immediately set to repairing the damage done to his ears and the rest of his body. While Ko’la maintained his invisibility, Ian could still see his own vital signature without issue.

“They’re sending people to meet us,” Wolfien exclaimed. “They’re all peak practitioners. Ian, they know where you are and they’re going to try and incapacitate you.”

“The three war gods?” Var’dun’a asked. “Godora is pulling out all stops from the beginning. Selejo definitely forewarned them. Do we confront, Wolfien?”

“I...” he paused for a moment. “Dunai needs to separate from us or people are going to die.”

“But what of Dunai?” Var’dun’a replied, her voice tinged with incredulity.

Wolfien growled. “Y’jeni, their Regret practitioner is so frustrating. Every second we’re both changing strategies and getting nowhere.”

“Wolfien!” Var’dun’a snapped. “What do I tell us to do?”

Wolfien hissed and sucked in a breath of air. “Dunai, fly on Bluebird into the city, form a bone wyrm as you fly, protect yourself, and anticipate drawing away the three coronuses: Byrrh, Dalar, and Kiehl.”

Ian inhaled sharply The three coronuses? Godora had six coronuses, two of which normally stayed in the capital. When he served as a Godoran corona, the coronuses were his direct superiors. He had never met his assigned coronus, Coronus Kiehl, but he’d heard stories about him.

Kiehl and Ezenti were both peak Remorse practitioners. They were both old men who had fought on the battlefield, but from what Ian knew...Ezenti was not Kiehl’s match in combat, his talents better suited to interrogation and doctoring memories. Kiehl, on the other hand, was a true combat Remorse practitioner.

If Wolfien’s sending me away...does that mean that Kiehl forces me to kill everyone? Ian wondered, taking in a deep breath. 

“Farewell,” Ko’la murmured in his ear. “You can do this, Dunai.”

Ian resisted the urge to rebuff him. The only one with the right to say anything is Wolfien, and he doesn’t sound particularly confident.

Up and away, Bluebird, Ian thought, summoning the companion from where it lay folded under combat vestments. Bluebird flew out and backward into the air, gliding next to the aeropoint. Ian twisted off the aeropoint and grabbed onto Bluebird’s tail, immediately forgoing Ko’la’s invisibility.

Ian’s ears tingled from the twin streams of energy on either side of his head, Bluebird emitting blasts of energy from its feet for propulsion. The bird focused only on moving forward, so the two of them continued to drop, Ian’s weight pulling them out of the sky. As they plummeted, Ian streamed bones out of his still-borrowed void storage and formed them into a bone wyrm, links of yellow-white trailing behind him and rapidly locking into place.

Above him, Ian could sense the vital signatures of the three coronuses closing in on him. It seems they know that I’m the true threat, Ian thought. Or perhaps the Eldemari has offered them a reward for my head. Perhaps both.

Regardless of the reason, Ian needed to deal with the triple-threat alone. What happened to shielding me from enemies? he thought ruefully. He knew his sense of being betrayed wasn’t logical–if Kiehl could turn him on his allies, staying with them was more hindrance than help–but all the same, Ian could only wonder to himself if it would’ve been better if he’d just snuck into Godora alone and unaided.

He’d suggested as much previously during one of their war meetings. He’d been shot down, people telling him how it wouldn’t work, reminding him that any powerful Regret practitioner in the capital would see if he began to attack and take him out. The point of appearances had also been discussed: A frontal confrontation in the daylight where they overpowered Corvid’s defenses would have a much stronger effect on Godoran morale than a Death-fueled sneak attack from the shadows.

Whatever their logic back then, it seems that my strategy is the one we’re going with in the end.

Above, Kiehl and Dalar were gripping white scepters that emitted sky-blue light; like Bluebird, the scepters dragged the men forward, seeming to form a small shield around them to part wind and reduce air resistance. Ian was moving faster than them for now, but he knew that would stop as soon as he stopped his downward descent.

Taking in a deep breath, Ian socketed the flight focus and two soul gems he’d stored in the void storage, turning the wyrm behind him into a true flying construct. A surge of Death energy marked the construct’s activation, pink and violet flashing along its length like a bonfire after adding new fuel. Ian let go of Bluebird and fell onto the bone wyrm, grabbing hold of the ridge of bones at the back of the wyrm’s skull. A moment later, the rib bones parted and Ian subsequently fell into the rib cage, calling more bones from the void storage to surround him in three layers of bone shield.

At that precise moment, Ian’s vision began to ripple; he felt as though someone were driving a knife into the back of his skull. Like Ezenti.

His sight suddenly shifted, as though he’d been teleported to a different world. Everything was in haphazard rainbow colors that assaulted the eyes, while the trees–if he could call them that–were giant tufts of leafy fur atop wooden stalks, their shaggy heads opening to reveal multiple rows of shark teeth. The world’s vitality was a mess of swirling black, white, and gray: utterly nonsensical.

Ian was riding on some kind of massive bat that screamed at him, the bone wyrm nowhere in sight. Ian frowned, realizing that the bat seemed to be trying to fly them both into the tree-mouths.

This is all fake, he told himself. The bat is clearly my wyrm. Kiehl is clearly trying to get me to stop the bat and thus stop the wyrm. The trees, though...I have no idea if they’re anything or completely imagined.

Ian could be flying straight for the ground and he wouldn’t know. He could be about to slam into a building or could be flying back towards his compatriots.

Bluebird? he called out.

The glosSword didn’t respond.

Ian grit his teeth. Kiehl’s certainly in a league of his own, Ian thought. Ezenti could do nothing like this.

Ian focused on the vibrant environment, trying to find anything he could use to break out of the illusion. Almost like he was back in Yuma Tai’s land of paint, the world around him had flashes of colors that swirled and danced around him, filling his vision.

They almost look like souls, Ian thought bitterly. As the thought crossed his mind, Ian’s eyes narrowed as they locked onto something in the distance. Is that...a real soul?

A floating orb filled with crimson ink bobbed in the sky, its form floating into one of the trees...and emerging unharmed on the other side.

Ian decided to head in the direction of the soul. Unless Kiehl can see souls, there’s no way he’d be able to recreate a representation of one in his illusion.

No doubt Kiehl had tried to ensorcel him numerous times in scenarios, assisted by intelligence from Corvid’s most-powerful Regret practitioner. With each iteration the man would get a better sense of the optimal strategy.

All of these blobs of paint streaking around this world are trying to hide souls, Ian realized. Whether the Godorans knew that Ian could see souls or not wasn’t important: All that mattered was that their strategy of filling his vision with countless rainbow circles obscured his only remaining window to reality. They don’t need to know why it works, only that it does.

Too bad for them, but I’m not letting this soul out of my sight, Ian thought. He was unwilling to turn his head away to look for other souls, but even if he could only see the one soul clearly, he was confident of one thing: the soul wasn’t close to any others. Since the SPU contingent had picked up a modest cluster of five souls that followed them from above, Ian could confidently proceed without fear of attacking his comrades.

Before meeting Ezenti, Ian had never blindly attacked with his Death energy. He’d always relied on his ability to sense vitality; while he thought of it as vital vision, it was more than a visual sense: He felt vitality around him, had an awareness of his surroundings through its presence or absence.

Attacking without his vital vision was akin to moving about the world while blind and without a sense of touch. Ian knew from experience that he lacked all finesse and accuracy when so-impaired: He relied on experience and muscle memory to deliver wide-area attacks.

First, I need to actually move toward the soul, Ian thought. He tried to think of the bat as his bone wyrm, ignoring the protests of his senses. Forward, he thought, trying to keep calm. He knew that the enemy was likely trying to take advantage of his disabled state to launch attacks, but Ian figured he could take a few strikes between the bone wyrm’s defenses, his layered bone shields, and Bluebird.

Despite his urgings, the bat didn’t seem to be changing direction; in fact, it appeared to be heading even faster toward one of the toothy trees. In contrast, the soul was growing rapidly closer. With a grunt, Ian made a sharp clawing motion with his arm in the direction of the soul.

Suddenly, the illusion lifted. Ian would have fallen over from disorientation if he weren’t secured to the bone wyrm’s rib cage by a girdle of bone. His vital vision came back in full force, giving him an immediate understanding of the current situation.

Not quite dead, he thought, his jaw clenched. Kiehl was plummeting as though he’d been swatted out of the sky, his vitality grayed everywhere but his left shoulder, the area near his heart encompassed in oily black flames.

The man was already beyond his range, but the other two coronuses gave him no opportunity to close the distance: The stooped, white-haired Coronus Byrrh was actively flying away on jets of fire, keeping a distance while compressing down a ball of fire in his hand. To his side was Coronus Dalar, the thin, gray-haired man weaving a veritable tapestry of liquid Light and Dark that seemed to bisect the sky in Ian’s mundane sight.

Fighting with the coronuses is not the objective, Ian thought. I just need to outspeed and get past them.

Now that Kiehl seemed to be out of the picture, Ian figured that his best chance of losing the two coronuses was to regroup with the others from the SPU.

“Incoming!” Wolfien’s voice rang out. I must be close enough for Por’sha to make contact, Ian realized. As Wolfien began to count down, Ian directed the wyrm to move vertically up, its torso twisting in a spiral. As they approached Dalar’s barrier, Ian sent Bluebird ahead, the bird piercing through the Light-Dark barrier like a bullet.

Unfortunately, the hole was only as large as Bluebird’s profile and was rapidly closing.

Wolfien’s countdown continued: “...7, 6, 5...”

Ian channeled energy to harden the wyrm’s skeleton, directed its head to spiral like a drill, and funneled what remained into his three-layered bone shield. Scarcely a moment later, Byrrh released his compressed flame, a pinpoint beam of energy piercing out with the accuracy of a sniper. Such a concentrated attack would normally never be so accurate, Ian thought, a cold chill sending shudders down his spine. None of these coronuses have glosSwords that I can see, so they should be using custom weapons.

Ian didn’t have time to react to Byrrh’s beam: It pierced through the wyrm’s reinforced bone and every layer of his bone shield, ripping a hole through Ian’s heart.

Byrrh’s expression was somber as he charged up another attack while continuing to move backwards; Dalar trailed behind him, tugged along by the hilt of his white scepter.

The irony of Death energy was that its healing capabilities were most potent when the damage was severe. Ian’s heart had all but been split in two by Byrrh’s attack, the powerful muscle leaking blood at a terrifying pace. But the dead energy was all Ian’s to command: He set to work, relying on both skill and instinct to shape his sundered flesh, reforming the center of his heart while forcing the pump to keep beating.

Under the limited time constraints, Ian couldn’t truly heal–or more accurately, regrow–the complex organ, but he could stop the bleeding. He could keep himself alive by manually waiting for the heart’s chambers to fill with blood before squeezing and circulating it throughout his body.

Ian’s eyes were crazed, his expression contorting into a sneer. That’s not going to be enough. As he focused on stabilizing himself, the bone wyrm collided with the Light-Dark shield. The bone wyrm’s head gyrated in place for a moment before the barrier shattered. The wyrm barely managed to fly through, the barrier reforming and slicing off the last two feet of its length.

On the other side of the shield Ian could finally see the others from the SPU flying on their aeropoints in his direction. The bone wyrm continued forward, avoiding the writhing Light-Dark barrier that bent itself forward as though to trap the wyrm in an embrace.

“...3, 2, 1!” Wolfien said, his voice filling Ian’s ringing ears.

A beam of fire streaked through the sky, impacting the barrier behind Ian and holding it in place. Mo’qin and Nixia, Ian thought, grinning in exhilaration. Now that the enemy’s Remorse practitioner was gone and he had regrouped with the others, Ian felt a savage sensation of triumph rise in his chest. It was the kind of unbridled combat fervor he’d only felt in Menocht, when he lost himself to battle, caring only for how many infected he killed before the loop eventually restarted.

There was something about it that Ian could only describe as competitive: A need to win, to conquer, to destroy. For years he hadn’t understood what he needed to do to escape, pinning his hopes on destroying the city, competing against himself to wipe out the ginger menace.

While Ian wasn’t currently waging a one-man war against an entire force of insane, trigger-happy practitioners, the three coronuses had pressured him in a way no one had since leaving the loop. All along, he’d been holding himself back, afraid of what he could do to people, terrified of Death’s permanence, but also...unchallenged: He had never even needed to attack anyone at full strength.

But that moment ago, when Byrrh sniped him with a bolt of flame that pierced through every one of his shields and ruined his heart...Ian felt the exhilaration of true danger.

Ian urged the wyrm onward, pointing it toward the city. At the speed he was going, he’d reach the city’s outer districts in less than fifteen seconds. He called Bluebird to his side, positioning the bird protectively in front of him. Defend me if I’m attacked again, he commanded.

With my life! the bird replied.

Ian snorted at the bird’s response, then looked behind, his eyes fixing on Byrrh. The coronus’ expression was severe, his lips murmuring something. Without warning, the man flicked his hands forward, a bolt of fire streaking forward like an artillery slug.

It’s coming for my head, Ian realized, his entire body thrumming with anticipation. There was no time to move: Ian forced all of the energy he had into his three layered bone shields, sapping energy from the bone wyrm. Bluebird simultaneously expelled a blast of energy that caused the energy-sapped ribs of the bone wyrm to shudder before bursting into bone dust.

Ian didn’t so much as blink when Byrrh’s bolt of energy came to a stop on the second layer of his bone shield, winking out six inches from his right eye.

Ian restored the energy to the wyrm, redistributing the bones slightly to compensate for the bones that Bluebird destroyed. His allies finally caught up to him, forming shields of Dark energy, barriers of mud, and a tri-glosSword aegis.

They were close enough to Corvid that Godoran soldiers streamed out of the city toward them with each passing second, but Ian paid them no mind: The lower-affinity practitioners were mere annoyances. They sent elementalist attacks their way but Ian let each one crash harmlessly against the bone wyrm’s exterior, storming forward ahead of his comrades with impunity.

Before Ian knew it, he was within the city limits, his wyrm soaring high above the buildings. The enemy wouldn’t be able to deploy heavy artillery against him without risking their own citizens; even if they chose to do so, the allies behind him would protect him against any attacks.

As Ian directed the wyrm downward, he appeared like a dark descendant, condensed Death energy coiling and bursting outward like a stain on the very fabric of reality.

The screams of the Godorans were nothing unfamiliar: They were identical to the panicked screams of Menocht’s uninfected. As Ian touched down on the earth, he could almost forget that he was in Corvid, almost believe that nothing around him was real.

He seized on that feeling. Without it, he didn’t think he had the courage for what came next. Eyes flashing with decisiveness, Ian snared the five-thousand-or-so people in the most immediate vicinity and–

“Stop!” Por’sha’s voice screamed in his ear.

Ian froze, tensing. So this...is reality. He didn’t relinquish his hold on the Godorans since they served as hostages, but he immediately stood down and stopped what he’d been about to do...what he would have done had Por’sha been a moment slower. How does she know this is reality? Ian wondered. Did the enemy contact one of us to signal surrender?

Ko’la emerged at the head of the SPU’s V formation, his aeropoint tilting upward so that the man almost looked like he was standing upright. As he began to speak, Por’sha magnified his voice out so that it resounded through the city’s center.

“I am Prime Ko’la, second prince of the SPU, here on behalf of Prime Euryphel and the other princes. I have come myself to offer terms of surrender. We have seized Corvid through strength alone, facing Godora’s finest fighters head on and with dignity. Even now, our forces are crossing over the western border and working swiftly through Godora’s interior.”

Ko’la paused. “We demand Godora’s unconditional surrender. Disable all weapons and cease all hostilities. While we have refrained from utilizing lethal force when possible, from this moment on any show of hostility will be met with unreserved might.”

Coronus Byrrh arrived just as Ko’la finished his speech. He held himself aloft on flames that ignited under his feet; it was a testament to his control that he hovered steadily in the air, his expression inscrutable as he surveyed the scene before him.

Byrrh sighed and swallowed, his jaw shifting slightly. Then, the man opened his mouth to speak, his words resounding out simply, without any magnification.

“With all of the authority invested in me as coronus, I declare that we accept the terms of surrender.” Having said that, Byrrh’s cool expression faltered for a second, his jaw trembling. His next words were barely louder than a whisper: “Please release the regulars.”

Ian released his hold without a second thought, the terrified regs once more resuming their shrieks now that they weren’t paralyzed. Amid the restored chaos, Ian felt a sense of hollowness come over him.

The look of Coronus Byrrh struck him to the core, his tired, empty request touching some deep, dark corner of Ian’s psyche. As Ian’s hands began to tremble, he froze them with his decemancy, then tried to center himself on the act of pumping his own heart.

It wasn’t enough to escape the sense of despair that washed over him.

“Excellent work,” Var’dun’a exclaimed. “A victory well-earned.”

Ian closed his eyes and exhaled sharply, his chest throbbing. Then why do I feel like I’ve lost?