Savage Awakening 330. Fifth Tier Breakthrough (III) (Patreon)

Zane streaked through space, swerving around rifts streaming with pale, dreamy colors. It was a weird place—no sound, no sense of direction. He followed his gut. Let his senses, his intuition, lead him along. 

He knew they seldom led him wrong.

He grew a little more eager as he got closer. Felt those whispers of gold-white power growing stronger…

Soon, he would make that power his own.

It’d been quite a while since he'd made a breakthrough like that. It was high time for another.

He passed a field of ragged rifts. Saw some faint outlines in the distance—distant archways, other ‘Numinous Gates.’ He’d asked Jawl about them. His steward had said they led to other pocket dimensions—their own little worlds. Mysterious places stuffed full of Laws and Concepts, shaped and molded by them.

All Noughtfire’s disciples made plenty of use of them across the breadth of Astra.

But the Gates he saw were not the ones he needed.

He kept forging on, blasting closer and closer…

About halfway through his journey, he felt a dense cloud descending overhead. He looked up. 

At first, he thought it was just another cloud. But something about it…

Then he felt quivering live essence flowing off it.

That thing—whatever it was—felt like a clump of souls.

It floated in.

Those soul signatures were not very strong, like a herd on the verge of sleeping—a barely sentient mass. As it drifted closer it gained definition around the edges, and he saw it as a float of bulbous translucent creatures. They trailed tentacles that bore a forest of glimmering spikes, crackling lightly.

Cursed Spirit Jellyfish

Essence Level 510

Each jellyfish was the size of a building. There were dozens in that horde, making a living wall, spreading out. It looked like they were on a collision course.

He was just wondering if he should skirt around them when one of the jellyfish lit up, flaring bright-red—right at the heart of its umbrella-head.

Zane frowned at it.

Then it lashed out.

A snap of tentacle, a whip’s crack—a bolt of crimson lightning snapped through space, blink-quick.

He threw up a hasty arm to block. But that was no physical attack.

He felt it in an instant—a lurch in his gut.

That thing took aim at his soul.

A moment before it struck, a brighter disc flared up before Zane—a shield, his Red Moon Pagoda, flaring in full.

The bolt crashed against the face of it and went to nothing.

But his Moon shuddered.

To his surprise, he saw a hissing crack where the bolt had struck.

It was the first time in a long while he’d seen the Red Moon Pagoda get damaged.

He blinked at the shimmering cracks.

…That was some lightning.

Usually, his soul defenses fended off these soul attacks in the background. He hardly had to take notice.

Then again, it was only rated to take a Minor God’s damage, he recalled—and it had been a while since he’d gotten a tune-up.

There was no time to think on it.

One by one, the hearts of those jellyfish flared red, spreading like wildfire.

…Drat.

A hail of red lightning descended.

Zane tried blasting out of the way, but he was slower kicking off space; he took a few head-on, knocking him off-kilter. Cracks widened down the face of his shield.

But Gods of this caliber no longer got Zane’s respect.

No Bones. No Great Circle Laws. Months ago, he might have been wary.

Now he just growled and brought out his hammers.

Stormfire raged down their heads.

He grasped the weight of his Chains, feeling the pleasing heft of them.

Then he slammed out a Stormfire Smash.

It was not the full physical potential of his body. Nowhere near.

But his hammers still shot out with devastating force.

Explosions rocked the distance.

There came a storm of ghoulish shrieks as those great blobby creatures splattered away into ectoplasm, burned up where they bobbed—he felt his hammer plow clean through, meeting no resistance, smashing straight through the center of the horde and shattering it.

The jellies were still vaguely physical. He saw them bulge when confronted with the force of the hammer, when they felt the shock of Zane’s power. And when they exploded, Destruction took hold—unmaking them in searing white.

Zane’s Stormfire could not be resisted. He swept his hammers around again, sent another string of explosions rippling through… by the end of it, there was only empty space. Burned up.

All was quiet again.

Level up!

Essence Level 465 -> 466

He nodded at his work, pleased.

Then he examined his trusty Red Moon shield.

A crack—nothing major. But it did make him think he might need to do a tune-up after all this was over.

It would come in due time.

***

He floated his way on through. He wasn’t bothered much after that. He felt a few probing senses, but most of the spirits seemed to have the good sense to stay away.

He did have a blobby fish-thing come at him. Lots of teeth, a strangely large jaw—some translucent deep-sea fish. It tried to swallow him, and he fed it his hammer.

Other than that, he made it through without much trouble.

The Numinous Gate loomed before him. It could’ve been carved out of a Roman coliseum.

Slabs of pristine marble, stacking up, rising to an archway. A single ruby shone at its peak. Thick black runes were etched deep into the stone, fueling its powers.

Echoes of Law flowed out of the arch. Impressions of another world—a portal of some kind. A swirling, hazy picture, showing a shining landscape on the other side.

Jawl had said Numinous Gates opened up stable entryways into pocket dimensions. Wild rifts—the scars permeating the space—couldn’t admit souls or flesh; only energy and Law could flow in or out.

But Gates let humans wade deep into worlds birthed of pure hyper-concentrated Law.

There, Zane could immerse himself in Solar Flare.

He could feel it—feel it in the brilliance that poured out, brushing a searing heat over his body… he could make out the fuzzy impressions—wellsprings of raw concentrated solar energy, it looked like. Funnels of swirling gold streaked the distance. Crystals filled with the stuff, studding the ground…

This was it.

He floated up to the arch.

Who’s there?

The portal was gone. Instead, in its place, there was a void.

And standing in that void was a ghostly image, semi-corporeal.

Its form was like the one the Spirit of the Red Moon Pagoda assumed. And it shared an aura with the gate. He supposed this was this gate’s treasure spirit.

It took the form of a short young woman with spiky black hair. Her arms were crossed.

“Hello there,” said Zane, giving the fellow a wave.

Who the hell are you?

“Zane,” said Zane. “Could you put that other dimension back? I was about to use it.”

He said it rather amiably, he thought.

The spirit frowned at him, looked him up and down, and sniffed. No.

“…” He blinked. “Why not?”

I don't like the look of you, it said primly. You’re ugly and far too big.

This was rather unexpected.

As far as he was aware—at least, from what Jawl had said—Gate spirits were supposed to let him through. That was their whole job.

“There’s no such thing as too big,” Zane educated the spirit. It seemed a little confused on the matter.

Yes, there is. I’m looking at him! It curled its lip at him. Go away. This Gate won’t take you. That’s that.

Zane blinked at it. He wasn’t quite sure what to do. “Will it collapse if I go through…?”

‘Course it won’t! I just don’t like you—are you deaf as well as dumb? Huh?

This fellow seemed unnecessarily mean. He was a bit speechless for a second.

Then again, he did remember Burnwater saying something about the spirits here being particularly troublesome…

He considered his options.

He supposed he could threaten it with force. But he did rather need that Gate.

…He also knew the Spirit was not really a young woman, but it’d still feel a bit awkward.

“I will be right back,” he told the Spirit.

Don’t bother!

***

“I loved these rifts when I was young!” gushed Burnwater.

He pointed out spot after spot in the sky as they floated—“That’s the Fishtail Constellation—I got lost in there a decade once. And there’s the Prometheus Range! The stargazing there’s just wonderful.”

He seemed to be an endless font of stories. He was quite a rambly fellow.

He’d been watering lilacs in his little garden when Zane dropped by. He was happy to help out.

“Not to worry,” Burnwater said, nodding. “These spirits can be trouble. But you just have to know how to deal with them.”

They floated on up.

I thought I told you not to come back, was the first thing the Gate spirit said.

And who’s this you’ve—

The Spirit froze. Then its eyes widened. It went pale, which was impressive for a ghost. 

You! it breathed. I know you!

“You do?” said Burnwater. Suddenly he looked nervous. “Err—”

You’re the Butcher of Gods!

“Well—I don’t really go by that anymore—”

Have you no soul?! it cried. You—you Monster!

“That was a long time ago,” said Burnwater, wincing.

I saw what you did. It sounded terrified. So many True Gods perished that day, the fabric of reality is stained for eternity with their blood—I felt their souls burn—and you laughed! How could you?!

“Um,” said Burnwater. Now he looked a bit embarrassed, as though it’d been revealed he was secretly very into collecting bottle caps. “In fairness, little miss—it was a war, and they ganged up on me! Granted—I might’ve gotten carried away—”

Get away from me! it shrieked.

Then it vanished.

There was an awkward silence. Burnwater coughed. “I had a bit of a temper, you see, when I was younger…”

He looked chagrined. “I’m not proud of it! It was a lifetime ago—that’s when I knew fighting wasn’t for me. It gets me a bit too worked up.”

“…Sure,” said Zane, blinking. 

A pause.

“Well—” said Burnwater, cheerful again. “It seems the Spirit’s gone into deep hibernation… you’re free to use the Gate!”