Varis Talahan stared at the body of the lord ranker, eyeing the various injuries both internal and external. The raging power of the creature, which he realized was master-ranked, filled the air. He paid it no mind. He had spent enough time around cultivators of that rank to know when they really meant business. Now, though, it had its attention on the incoming presence of the wasteland king that filled the air.
Unperturbed, Varis calmly watched the projected aura that took shape in front of him, subtly activating a tier 6 defensive construct around his neck. Runic inscriptions encompassed him in a bubble-like shape. He stared at the green-haired being with a look that was too alien for it to be human.
"A true beast then,” Varis thought to himself, his other hand gripping Tunde by the neck. The passed-out cultivator burned from within, his skin almost scalding hot. The being observed him for a brief second, an amused smile on its face as it spoke, “And who might you be, human?” it asked.
Its domineering aura crashed into the protective bubble around him and was summarily dispersed. The creature frowned. "I could ask you the same, true beast,” Varis replied as the creature’s gaze darkened. “True beast?” it bellowed in rage as Varis felt it gathering its jade Ethra in the air, signs of a projection technique.
Before it could launch, a projected golden fist laden with three affinities slammed into the true form of the creature, causing its projected self to vanish like a wisp of smoke. The arrival of Haruka was preceded by a gust of powerful wind that blew across the destroyed landscape. Varis, ever silent, watched on.
He felt the gaze of the king in that moment, the temptation to strike at a member of the imperial clan without the backing of another master present. Varis smiled, an almost gloating look stretching across his face before Haruka paid him no mind, facing down the other creature whose jade Ethra painted the skies a deep splash of green.
His mind went immediately to Clan Verdan, their jade affinity glaringly suffusing the air as it came from the creature. Was it somehow related to them? And if so, why had they not used it in gaining control of the outer lands? Not that it would last anyway. Sure, they might carve out their own kingdom this far out from the midlands and heart of the empire itself. But that was until the clan unleashed its vassals on them.
Varis’s eyes strayed to the reason why Haruka had been confident in leaving him for now, watching as the glowing form of the Sandshard he knew quite well enough shrunk to human size, burning away essence flame in the process. Varis frowned disapprovingly, watching the absolute waste of essence flame no doubt bestowed on it by its master cultivator.
Yumar, tearing a green blade out of his side, staggered as the injury blazed a mixture of beast, earth, and jade Ethra. The former expelled the latter, the injury closing up as the Highlord had been lucky enough to survive just in time for Haruka to arrive. Still, it would have taken a significant amount of power to heal, meaning the true beast Highlord shouldn’t be in any shape to fight him. Assuming he was noble.
Varis snorted, eyeing the Sandshard who took tentative steps towards him, still trying to gather his power under control from the attack of a master. “You’re lucky to be alive,” Varis said, his words being carried over the air as Yumar stopped, eyes glowing yellow. The true beast pointed a finger at Tunde, Varis raising one eyebrow.
“Give him to me, and I will give you a quick death,” Yumar said. Varis blinked, unsure if that had been a joke. Perhaps the creatures of the wastelands had developed a sense of humor? Good for them. “Like beating up on the younger ones, don’t you?” he said, prodding the true beast.
“He killed the last Blazewing and stabbed me. His death is inevitable,” Yumar replied. Varis’s eyes widened as he glanced at the unconscious cultivator. “He stabbed you?” he asked incredulously as Yumar’s gaze darkened.
“Do you know how ridiculous you sound right now? A mid-tier lord ranker somehow snuck up on you and delivered a blow to you, a peak Highlord?” Varis continued. Every second they spent talking was a risk for them to be caught up in the inevitable clash of the masters who were ramping up to full strength.
The air hummed with barely restrained power; the ground rumbled as if in anticipation of a tumultuous duel. Varis simply spent the time going through his options, not that he was in any danger if he was being honest with himself. His eyes flicked to the glowing golden and green forms. “Alright, maybe just a little danger,” he admitted to himself.
“You think yourself so strong, so powerful-” “Please,” Varis said, cutting off the true beast. “Spare me your fed speech. You follow a murderer and traitor; your words mean little to me,” he replied.
The true beast was nearly in control of its form, its rippling skin finally settling down as Varis prepared himself. He glanced once again at Tunde, impressed. Despite the sorry state of his body and the no doubt twisted and singed Ethra lines that would need another batch of purification and healing to deal with, the child had impressed him. For a second, he wondered just how far he could push him. After all, he had survived whatever hell he had found himself in, along with a master and Highlord.
Yumar forged a blade of earth Ethra, the weapon gleaming golden as he chuckled, one hand on his blade. Varis rested one hand on Ebon Tempest strapped to his side, loathe to draw the weapon against this…thing. It tasted sour in his mouth, and yet, it seemed the true beast would fight like a caged and injured animal. Of course, he had one other option, one other trump card he could pull out whenever he liked, if he had to, but it would be admitting defeat.
He could imagine the face of his triumphant father, staring at him with a gaze that was as arrogant as ever. He clamped it down viciously. He had arrived in the wasteland a peak Highlord and had cultivated his path to the peak of enlightenment by himself, away from the meddling of the clan.
Despite what everyone thought of the ‘cold blade,’ he wasn’t some unfeeling monster with a ruthless kill list to his name. Although, he did enjoy the reputation. Varis had a goal in mind, past the worrisome ambitions of his mother or the quite bland and simple one of his father. Even the continent-spanning goals of his uncle and grandfather. No, Varis had his own plans, his dreams, and while most would scoff at them due to their overly ambitious nature, Varis wouldn’t and couldn’t be distracted.
Especially by irrelevant obstacles such as the first claw.
Varis threw Tunde’s lifeless body aside and unsheathed Tempest, the blade igniting with black flames and crackling white lightning. Yumar, eyes gleaming with anticipation, nodded as if savoring the forthcoming battle. But Varis had no illusions; this fight was a test of survival.
Yumar charged with raw power, a true beast Highlord. Varis swung Tempest, its blade infused with the destructive Blitzfire technique of his clan. A massive fist of earth and ethereal beast energy met it, but Tempest cleaved through as if cutting air, the technique disintegrating into dust.
Yumar manipulated the dust, transforming it into razor-sharp blades that hurtled toward Varis. They screamed through the air, but he deftly evaded, his movements a blur. Varis had never subscribed to the numerous schools of bladework in the empire; he had the Song of Blades, a rare talent reserved for the era’s geniuses.
Tempest lived up to its name, a whirlwind of seamless, fluid movements that Yumar struggled to counter. The true beast roared, his aura rippling and crashing against Varis’s defenses. Varis, unfazed, pressed forward, releasing a projection technique. Dozens of blades wreathed in lightning and flame erupted, targeting Yumar.
The true beast danced through the onslaught with feral agility, closing the distance. Varis welcomed the challenge, their blades clashing, sparks flying, and the air thick with lightning and flames. The earth itself seemed to conspire against Varis, seeking to trap him, reminding him of the grueling obstacles his uncle, the Paragon, had set for him in his youth.
Varis’s uncle had sent him on this mission, supposedly to temper their grandfather’s wrath. Varis accepted the challenge eagerly. He grasped his Ethra, a cyclone of fire and lightning rumbling above, growing in intensity. Yumar felt the impending doom, his eyes widening in fear. Grabbing the jade blade that had stabbed him, Yumar tried to channel his concept through it, but Varis knew the true beast was outmatched.
Ebon Tempest, Varis’s soulbound weapon, resonated with his growing power, capable of rivaling a master-ranked weapon in the hands of a Highlord. Spitting blood, Yumar attacked again, but Varis felt the Song of Blades resonate within him. His affinity for blades sharpened the very air, cutting Yumar with a hundred invisible slashes. The cyclone of lightning crashed into Yumar, who roared in agony, his aura taking the shape of a large Sandshard, firing raw essence flame and Ethra at Varis.
Varis’s defensive construct rippled with a warning chime. Frowning, he retracted it, unleashing his aura in a conflagration of flames and lightning. The ground scorched beneath him, his white hair billowing. Yumar’s aura solidified, and Varis’s eyes widened with realization. “Enlightenment,” he murmured, going on guard with Ebon Tempest.
They moved simultaneously, lines of black and golden power colliding with monstrous force. Varis’s heart exulted with the Song of Blades, his every swing filled with lethal intent. Tempest clashed with Yumar’s arcane weapon, both masters wielding overwhelming power. Their battle was a deadly dance, beautiful and terrible, fought under the shadows of titanic beings whose attacks reshaped the landscape.
Varis felt the Blitzfire concept surge within him, the essence flame whispering to be unleashed. The clan called it Death Bringer, flames of absolute incineration. To release it here would condemn everything to ash, an absolute judgment. Varis held back, content to hone his sword skills against a formidable opponent, his flames held at bay by Yumar’s desperate defense.
The battle raged on, each clash a testament to their power and will, a duel that would be remembered for ages.
The Highlord’s aura was a volatile symphony of fire and lightning, coursing through his veins and harmonizing with the Song of Blades within him. For the first time in ages, Varis found himself reveling in the sheer joy of combat, immersed in a world of pure, unadulterated battle. Projection, imbuement, dominion techniques—they were mere distractions. Only the Song of Blades mattered.
He had been a disciple of Kael Ironedge, a master among the Heralds. Kael had recognized Varis’s gift for the Song of Blades, a memory as vivid as yesterday. Varis pushed the recollection aside; the present moment demanded his full attention. He was on the verge of defeating his foe.
Yumar radiated the power of a master, but Varis sneered. “Face me alone, coward,” he taunted, his voice sharp as a blade. Ignoring him, Yumar, infused with Haruka’s borrowed essence flame and authority, struck with the speed of a viper, his jade blade flashing.
Varis parried effortlessly, his familiarity with the blade evident in every move. He anticipated each cut, each feint, each aura, and essence flame-infused attack. Projection techniques missed him; imbuement techniques burned out within his fiery presence. Even Yumar’s dominion technique failed, the flames stamping their authority into reality. It was a one-sided battle, yet Varis was almost impressed by Yumar’s relentless assault.
Almost.
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“He saw through Yumar’s efforts—the desperate struggle of a predator about to be put down. “For what it’s worth, Haruka lied to you,” Varis said, deflecting the jade blade as easily as swatting away a fly. Yumar’s presence was that of an unyielding beast.
“He showed us the light!” Yumar snarled.
“He used you, made you a better mindless beast, an extension of his wrath against perceived enemies,” Varis corrected. “Haruka was and is nothing but a blunt instrument lashing out at its owners. You just happened to be in the way.”
Yumar’s rage was palpable, severed from his master and unable to aid the Wasteland King. “You left a human child to the mercies of the wasteland, abandoned one of your own,” Yumar growled. Despite Haruka’s power, Yumar’s body bore the marks of the battle—flesh hanging in tatters, dried blood matting his fur.
“The child rejected his station, sought to rise above his betters,” Varis continued. “To build an empire within an empire, to challenge the very powers that gave him life.”
“And we will tear down your walls, one brick at a time,” Yumar retorted.
Varis nodded, a measure of respect for the true beast’s resolve, despite his naivety. “Your armies are broken at the first true obstacle they faced,” he began. “Your strength decimated, you, the last Highlord, while your master is besieged by forces from all sides.”
He pointed Ebon Tempest at Yumar. “Perhaps in another life, you could have been something greater, but your story ends here.”
Yumar grinned, his form rippling as he invoked Haruka’s essence flame, transforming back into his true form. A massive, carapace-covered worm of black and gold, his Highlord Ethra filled the air. “Then I will deprive my king of one more enemy,” Yumar rumbled.
The ground quaked as large rocks tore free, adhering to Yumar’s body like armor. Golden lines of power ran through the cracks, covering him entirely. His baleful golden eyes glowed beneath the rocky armor, his maw opening to gather raw earth Ethra, preparing to unleash it upon Varis.
Varis breathed in deeply, feeling the Song of Blades grow impatient. He had prolonged the battle longer than necessary. As Yumar prepared his attack, Varis summoned the remnants of his Blitzfire Tempest, channeling its full might into his blade. He swung.
An explosion of fire, lightning, and clashing swords erupted, drowning out even the battle of the masters. Fire consumed everything, lightning flashed, and when it cleared, only ashes remained. The sky was blotted with ash, the ground scorched and brittle.
Everything had become fire, everything ash. Varis snapped his head backward with alarm on his face, searching for the body of his unconscious cultivator.
Varis exhaled in relief, spotting Tunde’s unconscious form. His essence flame had manifested unknowingly, a testament to its immense power. True cultivators understood the potency of essence flames, instruments of ultimate destruction and enhancement.
Only heated rocks remained of Yumar, not even his core surviving. Varis walked over the crunching ground toward the heated rocks, pausing as he felt Haruka’s rage crash into him with the force of a master. Varis cycled his energy, steadying himself.
He grabbed Tunde and tore away, heading back to Black Rock as Haruka seized him in mid-air, slamming him into the ground. Varis emerged from the crater, depositing Tunde inside, his eyes locking onto the cultivator grappling with the jade creature.
“You cannot hope to keep me here,” Varis declared, his voice rising above the cacophony of master-ranked techniques filling the air. A projection technique, a snarling feline, shot at him. Varis brought Tempest up in defense, his dominion, a realm of fire and lightning, cocooning him and absorbing the brunt of the attack, though it blasted him backward.
**************************
Haruka heard and felt Yumar’s death as an ache filled his body. It was a pang of pain, of anger, and of regret. The master ranker shut it down. Now was not the time to mourn or even lash out, it was the time for cold hard logic. Haruka was forced to watch his entire plan for revenge, which had been a long time coming, shatter around him, his subconscious unwilling to accept the fact.
It was a terrible thing, he, a once proud member of a clan, left for dead, discarded simply because he didn’t bend to the whims of those who considered themselves his better. Even at that young age, Haruka had seen what was left in store for him, a bastard son to the imperial clan, a source of joy at one time to his mother’s clan.
He, a member of the noble clan Thoren.
The clan of beast tamers, relatively powerful when it came to the outer politics of the empire itself. For a moment, their status was to be elevated, until Haruka was to be sacrificed as a pawn for the whims of the clan patriarch.
He could still remember that day, Haruka. The copper taste and tang of blood filled the air as he stood in the blood-soaked room where his parents had died trying to protect him, left with a single core and a void ring filled with whatever possessions he had been given.
Barely seven years in cycles, the young child had barely escaped by the skin of his teeth. He survived the hunters sent by the patriarch of the clan by hiding among the deep marshes of the sweltering jungles and eating whatever he could catch by night. An entire week, the young Haruka spent, putting as much distance between himself and his would-be killers. Latching on to a skyship headed for the borders of the empire before heading deep into the wastelands.
Jade Peak would have been a nest of killers as well, the reach of the Thoren clan extending even into the domain of their then rivals, clan Verdan. And even if he did escape them, the imperial clan itself, the clan who were genuinely after him in the shadows, would have easily caught up to him within the city of the Verdan clan.
His journey through the wastelands was arduous, but it forged him into the man he was today. The vast, unforgiving terrain became his sanctuary and training ground. Amidst the endless dunes and scorching sun, he encountered creatures both fierce and majestic. Among them, Yumar of the Sandshards and Kugan of the Blazewing stood out, not just as beasts but as companions and confidants.
Yumar, with his formidable strength and impenetrable scales, and Kugan, whose fiery wings could scorch the sky, were more than just allies—they were family.
Haruka learned the cultivation arts from the stolen Thoren manuals, texts he had risked his life to take when he fled his clan’s city. Nights were spent poring over these ancient scripts, his young mind-absorbing techniques meant for seasoned warriors. His progress was fueled by a burning desire for revenge and recognition, to show those who had cast him aside how high he had risen.
As he honed his skills and built his army, Haruka envisioned the day he would march into the capital, his power undeniable, his claim irrefutable. He imagined the looks on their faces, those who had deemed him unworthy, as they witnessed the strength he had amassed.
But now, with his army no doubt destroyed and his trusted companions Yumar and Kugan dead, that vision seemed distant, almost unattainable. Yet, Haruka was not one to give up. The wastelands had taught him resilience, and the blood of the Thoren clan coursed through his veins, a constant reminder of his heritage and his unyielding spirit.
As he stood amidst the ruins of his shattered plans, facing a formidable foe, Haruka's resolve only hardened. He would not let the deaths of Yumar and Kugan be in vain. The wasteland king would rise again, stronger and more determined than ever.
With a scream born of rage and the memory of countless cold nights protected by two non-human beings, Haruka swung his soulbound weapon. Infusing his essence flame, his aura, and his authority, the wasteland king touched on his concept intimately, drawing from it. The skies glowed golden, the image of a roaring feline taking form. Behind it rose something else, something ancient and lost, so powerful that the jade tyrant snarled.
“BEGONE!” the tyrant thundered, the skies growing green as an insectoid shape took form. Shaped from a perfect mixture of Ethra and aura, the centipede-like creature screeched through the air as the very sands below began to harden into clumps of jade crystals, jutting out as a dark shape retreated with speed.
The Highlord of the Talahan clan. Haruka couldn’t care less; he could deal with him later. The tyrant, though—the tyrant would feel his wrath. Sky Descending Blow was a technique he created himself, the result of countless swings of his weapon, the thighbone of a long-lost friend within the wastelands.
The serpentine creature manifested behind the feline form of his aura, wrapping around it, seemingly empowering it as Haruka tapped into the borrowed authority of the being he had stolen. Just a shard, a sliver, one of the prized possessions of his branch of the Thoren clan, supposedly bestowed upon them by the Talahan clan.
It was something old and powerful, something unseen on Adamath for ages. As the skies burned brighter, as if the sun itself was descending on the planet, Haruka’s body burst into golden flames. The tyrant laughed. “You borrow the power of those old bastards?” he asked, as if insulted. “Useless!” he thundered, both concept-infused auras clashing as the tyrant drove a jade-gleaming blade at him.
Haruka’s technique crashed into the form of the tyrant, both of their auras exploding so violently it tore the very ground apart in a cataclysmic attack. Haruka felt the blade pierce him, a moment of shock and surprise. His hardened and imbued skin, bathed thrice over in essence flames and purified in his crucible, could not withstand it. He felt his blow connect with the body of the tyrant, shattering not just its imbued physical form but going deeper, tearing through the tyrant’s body as its attack did to him.
They crashed violently into the ground, both in their own craters. Haruka spat blood, chuckling as he felt something crack within his soul. He understood in that moment. “Kael!” he shouted, “you never planned on letting me live, did you? You bastard!” he continued.
He could feel his body desperately trying to heal the attack, but his core was broken. He could feel his Ethra leaking into his flesh. Healing a body was easy; healing a core, and one of a master at that, was a different matter. He wasn’t in favor with the imperial clan now, was he?
Still, Haruka struggled to his feet, watching his aura spread out of him along with his Ethra like a raging pool. The very sands glowed golden, and for miles, he could hear the rumblings of the creatures of the wastelands as they came to him. Came to defend their king. Most of all, he touched the very sands and spoke in a whisper, even as he felt his body breaking down slowly.
Decades of hard work, unraveling slowly. “It is time, old friend,” the wasteland king said. The very ground for miles began to rumble, golden tears leaking from his eyes. He faced the tyrant, whose face held horror for the first time. Haruka smiled.
***************************************
Miria and the rest of the lords of Black Rock found themselves thrown around as the power of the masters battling in the distance tore apart the landscape. A single wind aura from the battle could end any of them, a fact made clear when it casually slammed into a large boulder, turning it to dust.
“This is madness,” Harun snarled, grabbing Miria. “There’s no way he survived what's going on there. We will die as well.”
Giselle gripped his arm. “Let go of me,” Miria said softly.
“Harun is right,” Giselle added. “That is a battle of higher beings. I’m sorry, but we’ll die if we head into that.”
For the first time since she knew Sera, the blood and flesh cultivator seemed to hesitate, staring into the maelstrom of power tearing through the air. Harun removed his hand, clenching it as he locked eyes with her. “I know, believe me, I know,” he whispered as Miria’s hair blew in the wind.
She was about to speak when she saw a body sail through the air and crash at their feet, eyes wide. It was Tunde—broken, battered, but in one piece. As if that wasn’t enough, Varis appeared as well, his cloth ruffled as he landed hard, staring at them. “Well?” he said. “Don’t you know when to run?”
Before they could react, a presence of flame and lightning appeared out of nowhere, preceded by a clap of thunder as Rhaelar appeared. All of them, seemingly shocked, turned to Miria. The lord realm cultivator stared in awe and shock. “Take this one back to the settlement, now,” she commanded her brother.
They locked eyes for a few seconds before Varis nodded, grabbing Tunde and Miria as she sputtered. They were airborne in a flash, tearing through the air with a speed she couldn’t imagine. Moments later, they were at the walls of Black Rock. Miria retched, puking her guts over the walls as she knelt.
Varis stared at her, speaking with gritted teeth. “Who are you?” he asked, a lethal tone in his voice.
“What?” Miria asked, confused.
“I should have seen it, stupid!” he snarled, taking a step towards her. She scrambled backward.
“It would not be wise to lay a hand on her,” a voice she didn’t recognize said as a figure materialized out of the shadows. A figure swathed in black robes, leaving only his grey eyes visible.
“At least, not until we have what we want from her,” he said.
Miria found herself unable to move, rooted to the spot as the figure crouched in front of her, tsking to himself. “Drop the act, phantom,” Varis snarled as an explosion echoed in the distance.
“Funny, I thought one measly master would be easy for scions of the imperial clan,” the figure said.
Varis drew his black blade as the figure turned to him with a chuckle, bowing his head. “Please,” he started again, “I meant no insult.”
“Answer my question, phantom,” Varis said. The figure’s eyes switched to Tunde’s body, which twitched.
Miria scrambled towards him, only to see a blade planted in front of her. “Not one step closer,” Varis said, her eyes widening.
“Please!” she shouted. “He’s dying.”
“He’ll live. You, on the other hand, might get on the other side of the Highlord. Best you move back,” the figure said.
Miria’s eyes snapped to the figure. “Who are you?” she asked, confused.
“A shadow of the phantom child, and you have something that belongs to us,” the figure said.
“I don’t understand,” Miria said weakly, suddenly feeling tired. She realized nothing remained of the king’s forces but ash and charred forms littering the outside of the settlement. The battle had ended in the most gruesome manner possible, and she was glad she hadn’t been there.
“Your affinity, taken from the body of an assassin, belongs to us,” the phantom said.
“The phantoms have no power here, shadow,” Varis said.
The figure didn’t reply, simply producing a golden token as Varis’s eyes widened.
“By order of the venerable paragon of the imperial clan and the first blade of the Whispering Phantom Sect, I hereby place this cultivator under my protection and that of the imperial clan,” the phantom said as a chill settled over Miria.
