Child of Aidon
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WM [91] Cowardly Commander
🕑 Added 2025-01-19 21:22:56 +0000 UTCBjorn rejoined the group inside of the barracks at the same moment the residual force that kept Failsafe sealed finally fully released him. Bjorn could feel the construct as it regained control of the right head and looked around bleary eyed. He seemed totally confused as he took in the change in location.
Bjorn didn’t focus on Failsafe as he was instead enraptured by everyone in the middle of meditation or cycling magical energies. Fuyumi sat on the floor between Tanisha and Aurelius guiding them both while drinking tea. Bjorn’s gaze lingered on Aurelius, captivated by the sheer intensity of the young cultivator’s struggle. His energies pulsed erratically with the chaotic waves of primana pouring from his body. His frame shook with the effort to contain it, and the sweat on his brow mixed with streaks of blood trailing from his eyes, nose, and ears.
Fuyumi set her teacup down with deliberate calm, the clink of porcelain was the only other sound aside from the steady breathing of her two students.
“Aurelius, focus on spinning the energy cycle, not just in your dantian. Let it flow through the lattice of your meridians and spread it evenly.”
Aurelius's lips trembled as he exhaled, slow and deliberate, though the effort cost him dearly. He forced his eyes to stay closed. Bjorn knew that the moment Aurelius lost concentration the delicate balance within him would shatter, and failure would be inevitable. The chaos elf clenched his fists against the rising tide of pain, his knuckles pale as bone.
Bjorn approached, his tongues flicked and tasted the air to get a better sense of the magic at play. Bjorn's understanding of cultivators was limited only to what he heard from Fuyumi and Aurelius during other training sessions. He knew that cultivators at the first realm they called the Seedling would somehow move their magic core down to their abdomen and form a dantian. Apparently doing so gave them some unique core called a Nascent Spiral Formation or something.
Bjorn would find out later that the breakthrough to the Rooted Realm solidified the dantian and spread out the energy through his meridians like a plant rooting into the ground. He watched as Aurelius's primana aura, previously drawn tightly into his body, lashed out again in violent bursts. The energy rippled outward violently, even so he noticed that Tanisha was so deep in her own meditation that she didn’t even react.
“Aurelius,” Fuyumi’s voice sharpened. “You must let it ground itself. Stop fighting the flow, it's not your enemy.”
A gurgling cough escaped Aurelius, and a fresh wave of blood spattered onto his robes, staining the fabric a dark crimson. Yet, through the agony, his breathing steadied, his chest rising and falling with a newfound rhythm. The primana began to shift, no longer wild and chaotic but spinning in measured cycles.
Bjorn’s sharp eyes narrowed, he focused all of his heads on to Aurelius. He even kicked out the still loopy Failsafe from controlling the right head. As his focus intensified he realized that he could see into Aurelius’s core. It was a mixture of his focus, magical senses and even the way he could taste magic that allowed greater insight. He realized this was the ability Fuyumi used to analyse himself and Tanisha. It was similar to the ability he had as Isin but less refined.
The air itself seemed to hold its breath as Aurelius’s cultivation heart, the Nascent Spiral, twisted and compressed. Bjorn could actually see the transformation of unfolding within Aurelius. Although he wasn’t sure what all it meant he knew that this was the first true step toward the Rooted Stage.
Then it came. A sharp crack, like the splitting of ancient stone, resonated from within Aurelius’s chest. His body stiffened as the breakthrough completed, his cultivation heart now a radiant lattice of interconnected energy.
“It is not over.” Fuyumi said darkly. “Prepare yourself for the Heavenly Tribulation.”
Bjorn felt the air electrify before it struck: the Heavenly Tribulation. Aurelius’s body convulsed as the condensed primana his aura had been releasing throughout the breakthrough surged back into him, not as gentle currents but as searing bolts of energy. His muscles spasmed violently, his teeth clenched so tightly that Bjorn feared they might shatter.
Electric arcs of primana coursed through Aurelius, lighting his veins from the inside out in stark relief against his skin. His back arched, his body straining against the unrelenting power. The energy burrowed deeper, saturating not just his muscles but his very bones, infusing every cell with the raw potency of his breakthrough.
“It hurts,” Aurelius screamed.
Fuyumi knelt beside him now, her hands hovering close, though she made no move to intervene.
“There is no comfort in power,” she said softly, her voice a lifeline amidst the storm. “It should hurt. This is the price of power. Let the pain carve its place within you. It will pass.”
The tribulation was brutal, the fact anyone would choose this path was a testament to the sheer will it took to ascend. Finally, with a final gasp, Aurelius collapsed forward, his forehead resting against the ground. His bloodied form lay motionless, the last flickers of primana settling into a steady, radiant hum within him. The suffocating tension lifted, and Bjorn exhaled a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.
“I… did it.” Aurelius’s voice, hoarse but resolute as he raised a fist.
“Yes, you did.” Fuyumi smiled faintly, placing a steadying hand on his back.
Bjorn watched as the young man’s aura, once chaotic and unrefined, now radiated with a newfound stability. It was like he was a completely different person with his level of control. This was the mark of a cultivator who had paid the price and emerged stronger.
Identify
Name: Aurelius Lyns
+ Species: Primana Elf
+ Level: 45 < 65
+ Vocation: Chaos Sage Swordsman < Primana Sage Swordsman
Bjorn was shocked that Aurelius jumped twenty levels through his breakthrough. He felt as though he needed to learn more about cultivators. Then again being a system user meant he didn’t need to go through all of the meditation and pain Aurelius had to endure. What would a True cultivator even look like?
“Bjorn,” Failsafe said. “What is going on?”
“You can finally talk again?” Bjorn said.
“What happened, I remember going back to Laxy’s room then everything went all fuzzy.” Failsafe said with a whine.
“As it turns out there is some kind of magic dampener in Laxy’s room as a form of security.” Bjorn said as he sat down. “It wasn’t as strong with everyone as it was spread across all of us, but with just me in there it was more potent.”
“Well I vote we don't go back.” Failsafe said in a huff. “I think this must be what being drunk feels like and I don’t like it.”
“We are going back, you'll just have to deal with it,” Bjorn said. “There is so much that we have to do and Laxy is the only one that can do it. First, I need to sleep, we are going to see what memories I unlocked. I think Tanisha and I are going to be going our own way for a while and we need to prepare.”
***
A chilling howl echoed through the desolate wasteland as Isin along with the squad members sprinted across the rocky terrain. This was supposed to be a simple mission, his first under Nuriel's command. After a year of enduring cruel experiments and backbreaking mining labor, anything seemed better than the hellish depths of the Extraction Site. Yet now, with the air filled with howls and panic, he wasn’t so sure.
“Commander, what do we do?” one of the squad members shouted, desperation evident in their voice.
“Keep running! We have to reach the defense towers before they seal the Gate!” Josef barked, his voice cracking under the strain. “Comms are down from all the interference. They’ll think we’re already dead if we don’t get through in time!”
Isin’s breathing grew ragged as they ran, his boots pounding against the jagged terrain. The Place of Creation stretched endlessly before them, a barren wasteland of shattered earth and corrupted skies. It was hard to believe this desolate expanse could be called a Place of Creation, it felt more like a crucible of death.
Behind them, the howls drew closer, guttural and monstrous. Josef, his hand trembling, yanked his pistol from its holster and fired blindly over his shoulder. The shots went wide, narrowly missing his own men. Tears streaked the commander’s face, his fear palpable.
Isin clenched his teeth, fury bubbling within him. How had his life come to depend on this cowardly man?
Up ahead, the monolith marking the Extraction Site came into view. The shimmering dome of the Gate, aetheric energy cascading down from the pyramid’s apex, was forming rapidly. Isin’s heart sank. They weren’t going to make it. Once the Gate sealed, it would be an impenetrable barrier, locking them out and trapping them with the nightmare creatures hot on their heels.
“We’re not going to make it to the Gate!” Isin shouted, glancing back at the horrors pursuing them.
The creatures were massive, six-legged abominations with a grotesque fusion of canine and reptilian features, their forms writhing as though fueled by pure nightmare. There were hundreds of them, a relentless tide of predatory hunger.
“We don’t have a choice!” Josef snapped, his voice shrill. “If we don’t reach the Gate, we’re dead! Keep running!”
“No!” Isin snarled. “We’ll be cornered! They’ll pin us against the Gate, and we’ll die like animals! Look around! There are fissures in the ground, new ones from the last shift. We can lose them there!”
“You want us to jump into those unstable death traps?” Josef spat, his face twisted with disbelief. “That’s suicide! The Gate is our only chance!”
“Your plan is suicide!” Isin shouted back. “You’re running us straight into a dead end, and you know it! The fissures are our best shot at shaking them off!”
“You’re a rookie, Isin!” Josef snapped, jabbing a finger at him. “You don’t get to make these calls!”
“And you’re a coward!” Isin shot back. “Your blind fear is going to get us all killed!”
The squad exchanged uneasy glances, their loyalty wavering. The howls grew louder, and the ground trembled beneath their feet.
“Fine!” Josef barked, throwing up his hands. “Anyone who wants to die in a fissure with him, go ahead! The rest of you, follow me to the Gate!”
The group hesitated for a moment, then split, only a handful of soldiers chose to follow Isin, their faith placed in his desperate gamble.
“Let’s go!” Isin urged, leading his small group toward the jagged fissures.
