Savage Awakening 327. The Champ (Patreon)

Zane stepped up to the task.

He knew everyone’s eyes were on him. Outer Sect disciples made up most of the crowd, lightly clad in leathers. But there were Inner Sect Minor Gods and a scattering of Core Disciples too, wearing ruby-studded lifting belts.

There was also a huddle of white-bearded and white-haired folk at the very front. They were like the Barbarian Sage—they had no aura at all.

But it all faded in Zane’s mind.

The only thing he heard as he stepped up was his heartbeat. Stronger than ever, a steady drumbeat. The rhythm of his soul.

Slowly growing faster.

He put his hands on the leather of the hilt. Breathed out deeply.

The runes on his chest began to seethe.

A blood-red light streamed out—the color of the purest kind of life, the color of lifeblood.

And from them flowed a strange new heat.

It seared him down every vein—like rocket fuel compared to the mere oil of the Asura State before. Burning so hot it seared as it pumped up his muscles, giving them new strength—it was nearly painful.

That fuel was a solar flare in the astral plane.

He heard the crowd's gasps ring out around him—but those faded away too as his focus took hold.

Then there was only the beating of his heart. Faster and faster—

It wasn't just his Asura State, or his Titan Rhino Bloodline. The two had come together in a seamless whole, making a new source of power.

When Zane burned, he burned as one.

In that raging heat, you could feel the vital energy of the Titan Rhino—that indomitable beast that never lacked for energy, that could not be felled—a steadfast force of nature…

But its edges were sharpened to warlike points. Edged bloody by an ancient power. A force unknown to even the most venerable of the Sages there.

Zane called his body to battle.

And it answered.

Instantly, he was a pyre in the Astral Plane, blinding as the sun—every muscle blazing with that new heat—a blistering vitality. Overflowing with the stuff of life—and in that aura, you could feel his emotion.

In that moment, they all knew Zane had come to play.

He lifted that hammer like it weighed nothing, cranked it all the way back, teeth bared, muscles pumped full of the blood of a new God—

Zane bellowed his fury. And in that proud sound, they all heard the distant bellow of the Titan Rhino, brought to war…

He needed more.

His heartbeat, that war drum in his chest, beat faster and faster, and so much power rushed down his arms they trembled, struggling to bear it—his muscles grew suddenly tight, searing hot, almost unbearably so, as though on the point of explosion—

The runes on his chest were like the painting of a bloody battlefield.

He had summoned something forbidden, unknown depths. A power no Ascendant ought to have. A power so strong even Zane's body, tempered as it was, could barely contain it.

By then, the air was hazed with bloody light—that color streamed off Zane’s body and his runes, seeming to writhe like live serpents striking down his massive pecs, his back, gaining strength with each coil—

He held that hammer there, letting that tension build interminably, an ocean of force welling behind the dam of his body, trembling—until he felt his muscles were nearly about to burst at the seams—

It felt like the whole Plaza had ground to a halt. No one dared breathe.

He gave a strangled bellow.

And unleashed it all.

The hammer tore through the air in a smooth arc. The air around it burst to white flame, unable to face that power.

Then it struck the anvil flush.

BOOM!

The eruption was blinding—in light, in essence—in the physical plane and the astral. The sound deafened all.

But somehow, they heard another sound, eclipsing it—

A sound that resonated in the Astral Plane. The dying echoes of Zane’s roar, the sounds of pure effort, rendered to all their souls…

A shockwave whiplashed across the plaza, toppling stands, collapsing banners. Wiping dust off the streets in great plumes.

And there was Zane, at the end of it. His whole body smoking. Downed on one knee, breathing heavy. Heartbeat still thundering in his ears.

He looked toward the gauge.

The number skyrocketed.

6… 9… 10… 12—and went right by Orin’s 12.6 AU.

It just kept rising.

…14… 16… 18—

It settled at last at 20.4 AU.

Then there was only silence. Some were still speechless. Others were looking to the Steles, breathless—

There was a massive reshuffling at the top of the list.

Zane’s name was rising.

Past 7… past 6—5—, past Orin Thunderfist too—past #4—

And there it settled at last.

“#3—all-time—on the Minor God Steles,” croaked the announcer. “I present to you… for the first time in history—this year's Champion of the Festival of Might, of both the Ascendant and Minor God Divisions—the Steelheart Conclave’s very first double-champ—Zane godsdamned WALKER!”

***

As he watched the crowd rush the stage, swamping a befuddled-looking Zane—first among them the Barbarian Sage charging over to tackle his disciple in a hug—Patriarch Steelheart took a moment to process what he just saw.

“Nüwa’s sagging tits!” said Elder Summersteel. He did a little clap, delighted.

“Nüwa’s sagging tits,” breathed Grand Elder Thorin. “How—how the Hells—”

He whirled at the rest of them, face slack. “That man—he’s still an Ascendant! Twenty-point-four?!”

Even the Patriarch was speechless for a few seconds.

“That’s some Signature Skill,” he said at last. “That’s no small margin. He outdid my disciple by nearly double.”

The only folk above Zane on that list were the Founder—Thalgrimm Titanborn—and Patriarch Steelheart himself.

And only then, because they were among the extremely rare few with physiques robust enough to absorb two Sacred Bones at Minor God.

The Patriarch saw Zane picked up by lots of hands—he was a hefty lad, but this crowd was quite used to picking things up. They carried him off cheering. Probably off to dunk him in a vat of beer before they broke out the greasy legs of meat. It was time for the Festival Feast—the time to honor the Champions.

The Patriarch himself would not be partaking. He touched wine once every century, nowadays. And though he hadn’t needed sleep for millennia, he made sure to get a full night’s rest. The serious warrior honed his body like a blade.

Zane was the same way, the Patriarch could tell. That was the only way to achieve a physique like that.

Although, in that lad’s case… there was something special about his body. Something no amount of simple dedication could achieve. Those runes…

“Ironfingers?” mused the Patriarch, stroking his knotted beard. “What do you think?”

“That Title of his… does not come from this Galaxy,” she said instantly.

“Is that even possible?” said Elder Summersteel, all wide-eyed. It was common knowledge souls, Titles, and treasures were a closed loop in the Dragonspyre Galaxy.

“It’s happened once or twice a Chaos Cycle,” said Ironfingers. “I’ve only heard of Titles like that from beyond—in the Celestial Imperium. And even then—it must be a rare one…”

Ironfingers paused. “I would categorize it as ‘Heaven-grade,’ but I suspect… we do not have a grade that recognizes that kind of potential in this Galaxy.”

There was a moment as they all took that in.

She pursed her lips. “The strain it puts on his soul to wield it… it is like a neutron star greatsword. A great weapon—but it takes a certain kind of man to wield it.”

“Hm,” grunted the Patriarch. Whatever the case, when the Barbarian Sage had burst into their council meeting raving about some shiny new prospect—one good enough to change the fate of the Conclave, or the War, even—they’d all thought he was as nuts as usual.

There was no way you could make a new prospect—even the #1 of an Ur-Planet—a strong enough force to make a difference in just 100 years against Galactic-level threats, surely. In time for the Final Wave.

Now the Patriarch wasn’t so certain.

“Maybe,” he muttered. There was a long way to go, but just maybe…

“Zorg?” he said.

“Yes, Patriarch?” rumbled his diminutive Treasury Elder.

“Next time Jogo comes asking for a treasure requisition—give it to him. From now on, he has free rein.”

He looked to the Barbarian Sage, still hoisting Zane up on his shoulders. “Go make that lad a monster.”

***

The Dark Star

Near the heart of the Steelheart Conclave, there was a black star of ultimate gravity. The requirement just to enter the System was True God. Any less, and you’d be crushed on the spot.

A barren planet—one chunk of steel scribed with enormous blue runes—orbited that star. And on that planet lay a cave.

That cave was the single highest-gravity point in the entire galaxy. The pressure here was so intense, if you dropped an iron ingot on another here, they’d fuse on the spot.

This was where Kon Thunderfist—the #1-ranked Core Disciple—had been in secluded meditation for 300 years. Chasing the Unbreaking Body—the single highest-density physique known to man.

Until now.

He strode out of deep seclusion, took a deep breath, and smiled up at the stars.

There was a subtle matte sheen to his skin now. It hadn’t been there when he’d walked in.

He tapped a silver band at his wrist, where a scrying message waited for him.

“Oh?” he muttered. “Seems I’ve just missed the Festival.”

Then he took out a scrying glass, which instantly crumpled under the gravity. He glanced at it helplessly. “Right...”

Half an hour later, in lighter gravity, he called his brother. There was Orin’s gently smiling face on the scrying glass.

“Brother—you’ve broken through? I thought you weren’t coming out for another hundred years!”

“I was lucky,” said Kon. “What’re you so happy about? It can’t be on my account.”

He hardly saw Orin excited at all, except when he was lifting.

Then he heard Orin tell the story of a strange fellow who’d showed up at the Festival. A fellow Orin seemed to find quite inspiring.

“He might even challenge some of your records in a few years.”

Kon chuckled at that. “This ‘Zane’ has a long way to go. The road of martial arts is narrow and treacherous. It’s too easy to fall off along the way. But he does sound interesting.”

He remembered the name ‘Zane Walker.’ It was rare he saw his younger brother Orin—usually so quiet and studious—as animated as this.

It wasn’t just Orin—wherever he went that day, whether the Plaza or the Hub Market or even the Core Disciples’ exclusive tea-house, he heard that name over and over.

Kon looked into whether or not he could meet this mysterious ‘Zane’… but by that time, he was already gone.

***

“Well. I guess this is goodbye for now, eh?” sighed the Barbarian Sage.

Fluffy made a sad noise. It was a lot like her happy noise—glass-breaking screeching, mixed with howls of the damned. Just a little more droopy. She gave him an equally sad lick.

“You go nab those Concepts fast, you hear?” said the Sage. “First thing when you get back, we’ll go get you that Bone.”

Zane gave him one last hug. “These last few months were great,” he told the Sage. 

“Alright, alright!” said the Sage, sniffling a bit. “You don’t want to make me start bawling, do you? Off with you now!”

Zane waved goodbye and went off to the teleporters.

And that concluded his first stint at the Steelheart Conclave.