Chapter 150: Execution.
As everyone was too busy gawking at the man, having completed his ascension, and fully healing, each of us aware of just what sort of trouble we were in…
Ruth had already acted. Uncaring for the situation, no, completely aware of the situation and where it was leading, Ruth had thrown herself in. That moment, reignited everyone’s fighting spirit, or rather, their desire to survive.
Her bat came in hard and fast. Practically screaming as it hurtled towards the man. He did nothing to avoid the blow. His arm casually raised, and his hand grasped out, casually grabbing the bat just before it could hit him. The blow made his arm crackle and pop like someone had stuffed it with firecrackers.
Blood ripped out of his arm, muscles vibrated, and the entire side of his body immediately looked worse for wear, but… he seemed completely unbothered by the injury. Before Ruth could react, he pulled her in by the weapon, spiked her into the ground with an overhead swing, and followed through with a kick, right to the midsection as she bounced off the floor.
The sudden one-two sent her hurtling into the wall, along with the sound of shattering glass as her uniform dissipated. In the midst of the cloud of debris, her slumped form could be seen coughing up blood.
Raksha came next, her blade swung for the man, the Xaio clan elder’s neck. He eyed the blade with derision. Even covered in whirring blood, that moved as if it were a chainsaw, he extended his head, bit down on the blade, shattering it in an instant. Completely ignoring how the whirring blood tore into his cheeks, nearly ripping his jaw from his skull.
As she passed, his hand shot out, gripped her by the collar of her uniform and pulled her in. Right into his other fist that cracked right into the center of her back. There was an unsettling crack, before he turned her over, gripped her by the back of the neck and waist, before breaking her back upon his knee.
The sound was final. Her body twisted, but her uniform held, if only barely. Annoyed, a barely perceptible scowl on his ruined face, he made to finish her off when Diana shot in. He tossed aside Raksha, avoided Diana’s pick by the barest of margins before grabbing her arm.
In a single motion, he crunched her leg and used it as leverage to rip her arm free of her body and used it as a bludgeon, smashing Diana away with the sound of scattering glass.
His frustration grew as his improvised weapon dissipated into motes of light, and it became clear that Diana was not only alive, but with an arm as well.
It had happened all too fast. I could only watch, my body not responding, not until he looked my way. And the next instant, he was before me. No words, just a punch to my chest. He aimed at a slight angle, coming from below.
I felt my sternum shatter into pieces. My uniform, or what was left scattered like dust. Offsetting only enough damage that my organs weren’t immediately liquified in the process. I went high and cracked into the far wall. The moment I hit the ground, the first thing out of my mouth was copious amount of blood.
Everything felt broken. I was overdrawn, uniform gone. I tried to stand, but even trying to muster up any magic brought with it biting pain. Almost like something was inside my veins, fighting back.
Biting down on it, I swallowed a coin, but all it did was intensify the agony, like razor blades had been injected into my blood. As if something foreign was inside, preventing me from mustering anything.
Even the following surge of heat, was like adding oil to the fire. Nearly sending me to the ground in agony as it felt like my whole body was being eaten alive by countless ants.
My vision blurred, but I could still see the vague shape of Diva facing off against him. She screamed into her mic, sending out a pointed shockwave of sonic force. Only for the man to shout, his own voice empowered by his own energy, clashed against Diva’s.
There was little contest. His voice cracked through her strike, and punched through, smashing into her. She didn’t go very far back, but before she could right herself, he was already before her. A single swipe to the head, an almost contemptuous sideswipe had her uniform shatter and sent her flying to the side and out of reach.
At this point, he wasn’t just frustrated, but livid. Veins were pulsing, blood dripped freely from his ruined mouth, his breathing was harsh, hoarse as he no doubt ruined his own throat. The wounds he had accrued in these short moments had him limping, but still going. He seemed less like a human, and more a spirit of vengeance seeking the death of all who dared cross them.
I tried to right myself again as he slowly approached Joan. Only to end up doubled over, coughing and hacking up blood and half-frozen blood. Just before he could reach her, countless shadows burst forward to intercept him. Yet, before they could hit, his rampaging energy whipped out, and his hand followed smashing into one of the shadows and bringing with it the familiar sound of shattering glass as Claire was sent hurtling into the nearby wall.
“Durable gnats, aren’t you.” He grunted out, his voice raw. Only to groan as he pulled free a small knife that Claire had somehow stabbed into his side.
Before he could recover, Liche came in from behind. At the last moment, he moved, causing her arm to go wide, carving out a chunk of his shoulder. However, uncaring for the wound, he gripped her arm, unbothered by how doing that had the skin on the palm of his hands erased. Without even pausing, he threw her to the ground and smashed a kick into her with enough force to send her flying into one of the distant shelves at the other end of the vault, accompanied by the sound of shattering of glass.
“You… are mere mantises standing before a chariot. Unable to even slow me down. You are NOTHING!” He shouted, spitting foaming blood as limped forward, leaving bloody footprints and trails of blood in his wake, and inevitably closing the distance between him and Joan.
She wasn’t far from me. I could see her quaking. Her body shaking. Once again, I tried to stand, I called out to her, told her to run. My voice raw, bloody. It didn’t help… Well, if anything, it shook Joan out of her stupor, but of all things, she didn’t run. No… she simply, went limp and fell to the ground. Her eyes looked over the carnage over everything.
The man, scoffed. His nose twitched and with disgust, actually walked around her before coming towards me.
“Your machinations mean nothing, you and your kind mean nothing before the might of a true cultivator.” He said, gloating, and yet… I couldn’t help but feel he was saying that to prop up his own failing pride. Despite everything, he seemed ready to shatter, to break. The small wound to his soul Morrigan had done, was like a single crack in otherwise unmarred glass. That, and all the accumulated damage, the failed ascension, it had him at the brink. He was fragile, ready to break, in need of a final kick.
Only… with Joan out, there was nobody else, and nobody else would be coming. We’d all thrown ourselves at him like moths to a flame and yet, we’d fallen short.
With another bloody cough, I try to right myself, tried to muster enough energy for one last blow, but… to no avail. I fell to my knees once again. Coughing and sputtering. My own blood seemingly ripping me apart. One glance told me, I wasn’t alone. The others were severely injured as well, groaning and writhing, but… it was obvious. I was in a much worse state.
Without the defenses, the uniform had spared my life, but it hadn’t reduced the damage I received. That I was even alive, could only be attributed to my magic, to the ice keeping me from simply bleeding out. Still, I did not look away, I did not avert my gaze.
Not even as he stood above me, almost gloatingly, covered in horrifying wounds, a bloody smile that exposed his teeth. His cold eyes filled with hatred. And even then, Even still, I stared back. Unflinching.
“Those eyes.” He said, annoyed, frustrated, beside himself with hate. “Still looking at me. Like mirrors.” He grabbed me, pulled me up. “Perhaps…” He said, as if tasting each word. “I should pluck them out?” He said, and I knew, he wouldn’t hesitate to do that.
Yet, before he could turn his words into action, a sound reached my ears. A crack, a booming bellow from afar, from the entrance of the vault. The Ancestor moved, jerking back. Letting me go in the process, where I hit the ground in a scattered heap. Yet, he wasn’t the target. With pinpoint accuracy, the bullet struck its true target, the engine. The moment it was hit, it exploded, and I felt the thick air thin rapidly as it flowed into the ley line.
It was then that the ancestor, gritting his teeth hard enough for them to crack, hands clenched enough that nails pierced skin and muscle. His neck was bulging with veins and tendons. His entire body tense, eyes bloodshot, it was then that he turned to face the source of the damage, the shot.
The source being, Joseph, bleeding, a handkerchief soaked in blood held to his mouth with one hand, the other gripping his rifle. The moment they locked eyes, Joseph jolted up and… ran.
With a growl, the man made to run after him, to bolt, but when he took that step his knee buckled. The knee, of the leg he had used to kick Liche. He squinted his eyes, his shoulders trembling with barely constrained fury before settling on me.
And really, I was finding, I really wasn’t liking this kind of attention.
Only… with how much energy he was gushing out, with all his wounds, and with the air rapidly thinning, it appeared as if, no, he was, he was getting older by the second. From his prime, to middle-aged, by the second he was aging and rapidly losing strength.
At this point, he seemed almost delirious. After a stumbling start, he forced himself up, eyes blazing. He hobbled forward, murmuring, more croaking under his breath. And when he stood before me, I knew instantly what he was going to do.
Really… it felt like it was over, but… was it really?
He must have seen something in my gaze. The odd lack of care, that anticipation, as if waiting for the next act. Because, he hesitated. His arm that was reaching out for me paused.
And something happened…
Only… what the hell is this?
The world gave way. The feeling was clearly a debut, and yet… it felt strange in comparison. There was no shattering of the world, no, it felt oddly familiar. Like being dunked in ice.
Looking at myself, there was no cover, no, I was merely a guest, a bystander, and where was I?
A field that stretched as far as I could see. At the center of field was a single hill. A hill where a tree sat that stretched into the sky. At the base of that tree, was a familiar face.
Joan.
And it clicked this was her debut, and yet, why did it feel so, forlorn?
Slowly, I made the trek up the hill. To where she was. Kneeling, as if in prayer. Head bowed. Quiet, waiting. When a storm came. Lightning struck the tree, rain fell and flooded the fields. The wind whipped out, ripping branches free, lashing at the trunk of the tree.
In a short period of time, the tree was battered and wounded. The storm seemed to abate, and yet…
They say, after every storm was a rainbow. That after a trial or tribulation there was respite.
That was not the case. The storm gave way to another one. Fiercer, stronger. That tore into the tree, left marks in its body. And when it abated, another came, and another, and another. All the while, Joan continued to sit, wait, pray. As if hoping dearly the storm would pass, she would be given respite. In the end, there was none.
The storms kept coming and coming, only stopping when the fields were gone, and the tree ripped from the ground and rent to nothing. And in the midst of this, Joan stood. The grime, the dirt washing away as the world began to burn as if the very sun had begun to descend. And all I could see right before everything faded, were her eyes gazing right at me.
And like that… I was back.
Joan was now in her uniform. A simple sundress. Worn, faded. Having seen its fair share of trials. In her hand, a simple knife. The same knife I’ve seen her clean kills with.
There was something about her demeanor though that sent off alarm bells. How she held herself, how she looked. Her eyes though, they hurt to look at. As they were scouring away every surface, as if judging all those it beheld.
Her transformation, didn’t bother the Ancestor. No, if anything, he seemed more upset that yet another one of us dared to defy him. Before he could even complain, or make some retort, she had moved. In a blur, a flash of light, soundless, without a single warning to her approach she was before him. Her knife in his gut.
It seemed to nothing, and Ancestor swung out, but she easily swayed and avoided the strike and stepped back. Her feet bare, looked to float as she moved.
He made to confront her, but paused, frowned. His hand on his gut where she had stabbed him. Pulling it back, it became clear. Something was wrong. Where she stabbed, the wound glowed gold, his blood had a golden tint to it as well.
“What is this?” He questioned, and for the first time, there was the faint trill of fear.
The person he spoke to, the girl, Joan, said nothing. Though… Joan didn’t feel like Joan. Her eyes were determined and yet oddly sad. Almost as if she detested, mourned that this even had to be done, like she’d start crying at any possible moment. All the while her eyes continued to shine with a golden, harsh light, and everything in her gaze seemed to have its color saturated, slowly becoming bleached white.
In a way, she felt like a goddess of judgement, here to weigh the hearts of sinners. In others, she felt more like a child forced to pick up a knife and do what others wouldn’t. No longer was her presence a boon, a guiding light, something to heal. Now it was harsh, burning, almost chastising.
Light radiated out from her person, and when it touched me, my own wounds burned and hissed. The pain and agony I felt was bleached away under the light, yet, I was not healed. Not truly. In reality, it felt like having an open wound cauterized. I wasn’t getting worse, but neither was I getting better.
If anything, as the light continued to wash over me, my ice became harder to reach for. My own magic seemed to burn and melt away under her gaze and presence. And at the center of her attention was the Ancestor. His body was smoking, burning. The gushing waves of magic erupting from him were held at bay, and burned with every second, putting him in dire straits.
Realizing the danger he was in The Ancestor charged her, and the pair clashed. And it was enlightening. Joan moved with surprising purpose. Her knifework was exquisite. Enough that it would even put my own master to shame as she left numerous, almost countless cuts along the Ancestor’s body. Each cut left a gold wound that pulsed and ebbed with every additional strike. As if each wound were interconnected, making them worse, ripping away at him more and more.
Between his already horrific wounds and Joan’s new gimmick, Ancestor was quickly put on the backfoot. Especially since Joan moved with a sense of purpose that took even me by surprise.
That did not mean that Joan was winning, however. Despite her having the upper hand, despite her own magic literally melting away his rampant magic, she was still expending far more energy than the Ancestor was. Especially since, with every strike, I could feel her magic pulse, feeding into whatever mechanism widened his wounds.
She wouldn’t last long. One glance about the place, and I found my eyes meeting the others, each injured and wounded. Each of them were stirring, and each and everyone of them was aware that Joan wouldn’t hold.
It wasn’t a hard decision to make. Even as cracked and broken bones protested, even as torn muscles and ligaments screamed, I forced myself up. With the thinnest veneer of ice holding steady over my form, just barely enough to keep me together as the burning light sought to purge it away. With just that, I found myself once again throwing myself into the thick of it.
I was too clumsy. Every movement sent jolts of agony through my frame. Yet with grit teeth I dove and slammed right into the Ancestor’s side. It did little, but Joan used that moment to press her advantage, forcing him to decide between prying me off or taking another knife to the chest.
Before he could even decide, another body hit, another, and another. In desperation, we all simply piled on, using our bodies, our limbs to hold him down. Before he could even react, we’d already thrown ourselves onto him, using our bodies as weights to keep him in place.
Joan did not hesitate to thrust, stabbing into his chest. He squirmed, ripping us off him, kicking, punching, trying to tear himself free. Yet, as Joan continued to thrust into him, as he peeled us off, we kept coming back. No matter the injury, the wound. No matter how life threatening, the light would burn, giving us just enough to keep pressing on like members of the living dead.
At this point, what confidence he had, what surety he had of heart and mind cracked ever further. His composure was lost as he struggled even more, doing everything he could to avoid the executioner’s blade, thrusting and stabbing into him with unerring precision.
Yet, it wasn’t enough. Was it spite keeping him going? Or something else? We were at our limit, as was Joan. There was no recourse, and yet…
Just as it felt we’d finally falter, Joan spoke.
“Judgement.” Calm, and yet, severe, her words echoed in the air. A final pulse of magic was sent out, one that had her uniform dissipate, and had us all pause in confusion.
At first, nothing happened. Then, the wounds marked with gold on the Ancestor’s body. The blood tainted gold, pulsed. It was a subtle pulse at first, that increased in intensity by the second. In a final burst of strength and our own inattention had him peeling us off, throwing us away as his body began to glow, as the gold took over his body, and from there, he began to burn.
He began to scream. His body, even his soul began to burn. And all we could do was watch in horror as the man burnt into a husk, then nothing…
In that moment, a tsunami of starlight flowed out of his form, and into each of us. Our broken bodies on the brink of death were suddenly flooded with new energy and life. However, it didn’t bring pleasure or joy, or even comfort. No, just agony, pain, as our dying bodies were forcibly injected with new life.
The sudden jolt of new agony immediately snapped what remained of our consciousness, and as one, we all collapsed into a heap. And knew no more.