Location: The Sealed Space — The Crucible of Ascension — Third Trial — The Pillar Chamber — The Altar
The orrhions lunged.
Their bodies were blurs of motion, their limbs extending, their fingers curling into claws. They moved with a speed that defied their size, their hosts' bodies twisted into shapes that should not have been possible. The air around them crackled with dark energy, the frequency of their hunger palpable, suffocating.
They were almost upon the unconscious figure at the center of the altar.
Then his eyes opened.
Not his eyes—something else. The irises had shifted, become pools of pale gold, swirling with the colors of a storm. The pupils had contracted, become slits, vertical, like those of a predator that had been sleeping and had just woken up.
The expression on his face was blank.
Not angry. Not afraid. Just... present.
The orrhions stopped.
Their bodies froze mid-lunge, their claws inches from his skin. Their eyes widened. Their mouths opened.
"What—"
"What is—"
"What is this?"
Naji's voice was quiet, reserved.
"I sense rather unworldly spirit in this human."
His eyes narrowed.
"Whoever is in control of the body right now—it's not someone we can mess with."
---
Elijah watched from the orrhion chip world.
His consciousness had been thrown back, separated from his body by something he didn't understand. He was a spectator now, watching through the lens of his Tenryu as his body moved without his permission.
"What the heck?"
His voice was flat.
"What the heck is going on?"
His connection to his body was gone. He could see it. He could feel it. But he couldn't control it. It was like watching a movie of himself, a puppet whose strings had been cut.
"This is—"
"This is—"
"This is—"
---
Wonko stood in the orrhion chip world.
The terrain around him had changed. The holographic expanse of code and light that had existed before was gone, replaced by something else. Something that looked like a wasteland of red dust and jagged rock, the sky above it a bruised purple that pulsed with veins of sickly green light.
"What is this?" he thought.
"What is this place?"
He tried to sense Elijah.
He couldn't.
"Just what is this boy up to?" he muttered.
"I can't even sense him."
"Which is—"
"Which is odd."
"Very odd."
---
The figure on the altar stood.
Its movements were fluid, unhurried. It looked around the chamber—at the pillars, at the murals, at the corpses of the fallen trainees. Its eyes lingered on the aethernova suits, on the technology that had been designed to control and contain.
It shook its head.
Sadness. Regret. Something that looked almost like pity.
"Pathetic," it said.
Its voice was not Elijah's.
It was deeper, older, the voice of something that had seen empires rise and fall.
"All of this."
"All of this—"
"For what?"
It began to walk.
Not fast. Not slow. Just there. Its movements were fluid, predatory, its body low to the ground. Each step covered more distance than it should have, the space between it and the orrhions shrinking with each stride.
"What is he doing?"
"Is he—"
"Is he—"
"Is he walking toward us?"
"He's—"
"He's walking toward us."
---
Elijah watched from the chip world.
His voice was quiet, almost a whisper.
"This is—"
"This is—"
"I don't know if this is a good thing."
"I don't know if this is—"
"I don't know if this is anything."
He couldn't finish the sentence.
---
VI
The first orrhion attacked.
Its host's body lunged forward, its claws aimed at the figure's throat. The frequency around it pulsed with dark, hungry energy, the air around it growing cold.
The figure moved.
Not fast. Not slow. Just there.
Its hand came up—not to block, to strike. Its palm connected with the orrhion's chest. A crimson line exploded from its knuckles, bright and sharp, like a crack in the surface of reality.
The orrhion's block didn't fail.
It just... stopped.
Its body froze mid-lunge, its claws inches from the figure's face. Its eyes went wide. Its mouth opened.
"What—"
"What is—"
"What is this?"
The figure's other hand came up.
Its fist was wreathed in pale gold and deep crimson, the colors of Tenryu and Shinso intertwined. It struck the orrhion's chest—once, twice, three times, each strike landing in the space of a single exhale.
The orrhion's body dissolved.
Not violently—completely. Its form scattered into particles of pale light that drifted through the air like ash.
---
The other orrhions attacked.
They came from all sides, their bodies blurs of motion, their claws aimed at the figure's head, throat, chest. Their auras flared around them, dark and hungry and alive.
The figure moved.
Not fast. Not slow. Just there.
Its body twisted, its limbs extending, its strikes landing with precision. Each blow was a work of art—a crimson line here, a pulse of pale gold there, a wave of deep crimson that sent another orrhion flying backward.
"He's—"
"He's—"
"He's—"
"He's not human."
"He's something else."
"He's—"
"He's a monster."
---
Naji watched from the edge of the chamber.
His eyes were narrowed. His jaw was tight. His hands were clasped behind his back, his fingers curled into fists.
"He's using the altar," he said.
His voice was quiet.
"He's drawing energy from it. From the accumulated essence of centuries. He's using it to fuel his attacks."
"That's—"
"That's not possible."
"It is."
Naji's eyes were cold.
"It is."
---
The last orrhion fell.
Its body hit the stone floor, its host's form dissolving into particles of pale light. The chamber was silent, save for the sound of the figure's breathing.
"That was—"
"That was—"
"That was—"
"That was something."
---
Naji stepped forward.
His body was coiled. His eyes were cold. His hands were raised.
"I don't give a shit if you're a god," he said.
His voice was sharp.
"Or a devil king."
"Or something in between."
"One of us is going out."
"And it won't be me, pal."
He lunged.
The figure lunged.
Their fists collided.
The impact sent a shockwave through the chamber—cracks spiderwebbing across the stone, dust falling from the ceiling, the pillars trembling.
---