The four robed figures, their forms shifting like shadows beneath the ancient trees, continued their furtive procession, the ornate carriage swaying gently between them. Their hushed voices, barely audible over the rustle of leaves, carried snippets of conversation that piqued Ryel's interest.
"Are we certain this is the designated path?" one whispered, his voice gravelly, laced with a tremor of apprehension. "The Elder's guidance was… specific. Any deviation from the ancient rites could invite disfavor."
Another, whose movements were more fluid and confident, responded with a low chuckle. "Fear not, Kael. The path is true. The Supreme Spirit Dragon's hunger is well-known, and its lair, hidden beyond the Veil of Whispers, awaits its tribute. Think of the blessings, brother! Imagine the Aetherweave flowing freely through our organization, the power bestowed upon our people, finally elevating the Scions of the Obsidian Spire to their rightful place!"
His voice, though hushed, throbbed with fervent ambition.
"But… a life, Volkov," a third voice, younger and more hesitant, interjected. "To offer a… gifted one. Is it truly necessary? Such potential… wasted."
Volkov scoffed. "Wasted? Nonsense, young Lyraeus. This is not waste; it is investment. The ancient texts of the Veridian Prophecies explicitly state that only beings with true, inherent gifts, those blessed by the very fabric of Aerthos, can appease the Dragon. Their essence, their unique resonance with the Aetherweave, is what it truly craves. And the boy… his aura is immense, even for one of the pure-blooded lineages. A powerful sacrifice ensures powerful boons. Imagine: unfettered access to the Dragon's Breath Aether, a concentrated form of raw magical energy that could fuel our rituals for centuries! We will finally break the dominance of the Arcane Guild and the Steel Sentinels."
"And the risk?" Kael pressed, his voice tinged with skepticism. "The legends speak of those who tried to deceive the Dragon, offering unworthy tributes. Its wrath… it consumed entire villages."
"Superstitious nonsense!" Volkov dismissed, though a faint tension was visible in his shoulders. "The Elder has performed the preliminary Soul-Binding Rituals. The boy is already pre-ordained. His will, his very essence, is tied to this offering. He is merely a vessel, a conduit for our ascension. Once the exchange is made, our organization, the Crimson Veil Conclave, will ascend to unprecedented power! We will no longer be mere shadow-weavers; we will be architects of destiny!"
Ryel, concealed in the dense undergrowth, his body almost imperceptible even to the casual gaze, listened intently, his internal monologue a rapid-fire analysis. Oh, I see. A sacrifice. For power. The blatant disregard for life, the casual discussion of sacrificing a "gifted" individual for organizational gain, it all resonated with a bitter familiarity. It was the same underlying hunger for control that had driven Lyra's betrayal, just on a grander, more ritualistic scale.
Crimson Veil Conclave… Supreme Spirit Dragon… Veil of Whispers… Dragon's Breath Aether. New lore, new pieces of the puzzle that was Aerthos. He filed them away, adding them to his rapidly expanding mental database.
They eventually reached their destination: a colossal cave entrance, not a natural formation, but a massive, intricately carved door of obsidian, seamlessly integrated into the side of a mountain. Ancient, glowing runes pulsed faintly on its surface, hints of a power beyond mortal comprehension. The robed figures carefully set the carriage down before the colossal entrance.
"The tribute is ready," Volkov announced, his voice echoing in the cavernous space. "May the Supreme Spirit Dragon accept our offering and grant us its eternal favor!"
With a final, shared glance, the four figures melted back into the shadows of the forest, disappearing as swiftly and silently as they had arrived, leaving the carriage alone before the ominous portal.
Ryel remained hidden, his presence utterly undetectable. He waited, his senses acutely aware of the throbbing energy emanating from within the carriage. This was his moment. He had planned to simply take the boy, but the emergence of something from the cave made him pause.
A soft, ethereal light began to emanate from the depths of the cave, growing steadily brighter. The colossal door, impossibly, began to shimmer, its obsidian surface rippling like disturbed water. It wasn't a door at all, he realized, but a portal, a gateway to another realm. From the shimmering light, a being began to materialize, slowly, majestically.
It was a creature of immense size, its form vaguely serpentine, yet imbued with an ethereal grace. Its body was composed of swirling, incandescent light, like condensed starlight, and its scales seemed to be made of polished jade. Long, crystalline whiskers trailed from its leonine head, and its eyes, vast pools of shimmering emerald, held an ancient, almost primordial intelligence. This was the Supreme Spirit Dragon, a being of pure magical energy. It was even more magnificent and terrifying than the legends described.
The Dragon extended its long, serpentine neck, its gaze settling on the carriage. With a barely perceptible shift of its ethereal form, a wave of concentrated energy, warm and resonant, washed over the conveyance. The intricate carvings of the carriage glowed fiercely, then with a soundless implosion, it disintegrated, not into dust, but into pure Aetherweave, absorbed by the Dragon's power.
Revealed within the now empty space was a boy. He seemed twelve in appearance. He possessed striking dark blue hair that seemed to absorb the ambient light, and he was clad in a simple, unadorned white robe that billowed slightly despite the lack of wind. His features were delicate, almost ethereal, and his eyes, a startling shade of amethyst, were wide with a blank incomprehension.
He simply tilted his head, utterly bewildered by the scenario, like a lost child gazing at a complex machine. He seemed utterly unaware of the immense power he radiated, the very reason for his presence here.
Ryel's initial instinct, honed by years of self-preservation, screamed at him to leave. To melt back into the forest, to avoid this escalating, dangerous situation. This was a direct confrontation with a powerful, possibly divine, entity, and for what? A strange boy who seemed to possess a remarkable energy signature.
But… Ryel paused, the thought blooming in his mind, rooted in a cold, pragmatic logic. It's kind of a waste. The energy radiating from the boy was immense, undeniably potent. He was clearly a 'gifted' individual, as the cultists had called him, possessing an extraordinary innate talent, perhaps even a unique Aether-resonance. If these cultists were simply throwing him away as a sacrifice, then perhaps he could be utilized instead. There was potential here, immense, untapped potential.
To simply let him be consumed… it felt like a squandering of valuable resources. Ryel's mind whirred, already envisioning ways to quantify, categorize, and potentially leverage the boy's unique abilities. And I need to find out what makes him so exponential. What was this 'gift' they spoke of?
The Supreme Spirit Dragon, its emerald eyes now focused solely on the bewildered boy, activated its ability. Around the boy, many spirit circles began to materialize, shimmering rings of pure Aetherweave, each pulsing with complex runes. They spun slowly, drawing closer to the boy, their purpose clearly to drain or absorb his essence. The air vibrated with the immense pressure of the Dragon's power, a tangible force that pressed down on the forest, making the leaves tremble.
Ryel took a deep breath, stepping out from the shadows, his voice cutting through the heavy silence with an unexpected clarity and confidence for one so young. "Well, sorry to ruin what you're doing, oversized lizard, but I'm taking the boy with me."
The Supreme Spirit Dragon paused, its vast emerald eyes slowly swiveling to fix on Ryel. The air around it crackled, and the very ground beneath Ryel's feet seemed to hum with suppressed power. Its voice, a resonant hum that vibrated through the air, was devoid of emotion, yet carried the weight of ages. "Who are you, insignificant one, to interrupt?"
Ryel, unperturbed, met its gaze. A faint, almost imperceptible smirk touched his lips. "The name's Ryel. And you are already dead."
The Dragon, a being of immense knowledge and power, performed an appraisal, its consciousness reaching out to gauge Ryel's strength. Its emerald eyes widened imperceptibly. It sensed power, immense physical power, even for a young human. But beneath that, something far more vast, far more terrifying. A dark aura, an immeasurable void, pulsed behind his physical attributes, registering as an anomaly that defied its understanding. I can't… see it. Its power is too immense.but It's… nothing. The realization sent a chill through its ethereal form.
Suddenly, the Dragon's calm demeanor shattered. This was not an insignificant mortal. This was something… unknown.
And the ancient being, despite its power, had no desire to take an unnecessary risk. It roared, a sound that shook the very mountains. The pressure in the air intensified tenfold, becoming a physical weight that threatened to crush the trees.
The ground beneath Ryel's feet cracked. The Dragon lashed out with blinding speed, unleashing a barrage of its unique abilities – concentrated beams of incandescent Aetherweave, spectral claws that tore at the very fabric of reality, blasts of pure elemental force. It bypassed Ryel entirely, aiming directly for the boy, a calculated move to secure its sacrifice before Ryel could react.
Ryel, caught off guard by the Dragon's sudden shift in target and its overwhelming display of power, momentarily froze. He had expected the Dragon to engage him directly. Before he could activate his own abilities, a horrifying sight unfolded before him.
The boy, Miel, was struck by the Dragon's devastating onslaught. In a single, horrifying instant, his body was sliced into millions of shimmering pieces, like a shattered glass sculpture. The amethyst eyes, still wide with incomprehension, dissolved into glittering motes of light.
Ryel's breath hitched.
But then, as quickly as it happened, the impossible occurred. The shimmering fragments of light began to coalesce, drawing back together. In a blink, the boy's form reconstructed itself instantly, seamlessly reforming as if nothing had happened. His eyes, still bewildered, blinked. He then raised his arms, and with a casual, almost unconscious movement, his forearms transformed, hardening and sharpening into sleek, dark blades of what appeared to be solidified light. With a flick of his wrists, he unleashed a volley of smaller, razor-sharp blades of condensed light, launching them with surprising force directly at the Supreme Spirit Dragon.
Ryel's initial shock quickly gave way to a wide, disbelieving grin. "Well, well, well". He chuckled aloud, a genuine, delighted sound. I got a great find here! This boy, this sacrificial lamb, was far more than he appeared. He possessed not only immense energy, but a unique ability for instantaneous reconstruction and weapon manifestation. This was far more interesting than a mere 'gifted' sacrifice.
With renewed purpose, Ryel moved. He closed the distance to the boy in a single, fluid motion, a blur of speed amplified by Diov. He placed a hand on Miel's shoulder, a reassuring, yet firm, gesture. "Let me end this quickly," he stated, his voice low and confident. He then stepped in front of the bewildered boy, fully engaging the Supreme Spirit Dragon.
The Dragon paused, its emerald eyes narrowing as it regarded Ryel, its ancient wisdom processing the boy's impossible regeneration and Ryel's sudden shift in demeanor.
"Very well," its resonant voice boomed, now laced with a cold fury. "You will join him in oblivion!" It gathered its vast power, concentrating it into a single, devastating blast of pure Aetherweave, a mile-wide torrent of incandescent energy designed to obliterate everything in its path. The air shrieked, the ground buckled, and even the distant mountains seemed to tremble.
The blast struck Ryel head-on. The force was unimaginable, a catastrophic explosion of light and power that sent a shockwave tearing through the forest, uprooting ancient trees and scarring the earth. A cloud of dust and debris billowed outwards, completely obscuring Ryel.
"What?!" The Dragon's voice was laced with triumphant surprise, quickly turning to disbelief.
As the dust began to clear, an impossible sight emerged.
Ryel stood unharmed. He had blocked the devastating, mile-wide blast with one hand, held casually before him. His small form, seemingly insignificant, was utterly unflinching. Around his hand, a shimmering, almost invisible barrier pulsed, silently absorbing the Dragon's raw power. He had, in that split second, unlocked one lock of the Absolute Abyss.
The familiar, subtle warping of the air around him was barely noticeable, contained by his focused will.
With his other hand, he simply extended a finger towards the Supreme Spirit Dragon. "Abyss," he whispered, the single word a chilling command that resonated with the primordial emptiness of the universe.
And instantly, utterly without warning, the magnificent Supreme Spirit Dragon was gone. Not disintegrated, not blasted into oblivion, but simply… brought into the void.
The Dragon, now trapped in Ryel's personal abyss, found itself suspended in an infinite expanse of churning void, a realm of utter nothingness. Its light, its power, its very essence, seemed to dim within this consuming emptiness. It thrashed, unleashing its myriad abilities, desperate to escape. "What is this?!" its resonant voice, now filled with a desperate terror, echoed futilely in the boundless void. It tried to conjure its Aetherweave blasts, its spectral claws, its elemental fury. But nothing happened. Its abilities were gone.
Utterly, completely erased. Its ethereal body, once untouchable, now felt strangely… corporeal within this void. It could interact with it, feel its oppressive nothingness.
Ryel's voice, cold and detached, resonated within the Abyss, not as sound, but as an inescapable thought, penetrating the Dragon's very being. "This is the Absolute Abyss. It is the stop of all things. Your abilities, your power, your very existence… all erased here." He paused, his presence in the void like a silent, all-encompassing judge. "And understand this, great Dragon: whether you far surpass me in strength or any other metric, my Abyss will automatically reach higher, will always be above yours, always."
A chilling finality imbued his words. "Now… goodbye."
With a casual swipe of his finger in the real world, a gesture of absolute command, Ryel uttered a single, chilling word: "Death."
Within the Abyss, the Supreme Spirit Dragon instantly ceased to be. Its luminous form flickered, dissolved, and then evaporated, merging seamlessly with the consuming void, its essence becoming one with the infinite emptiness. It was gone, utterly and irrevocably.
Ryel blinked, the subtle hum of the Abyss receding, its power once again locked down. He looked at the boy, Miel, who still stood bewildered, seemingly untouched by the cataclysmic event that had just transpired.
Ryel crouched down, bringing himself to the boy's eye level. "Hey," he said, his voice softer now, tinged with a hint of genuine curiosity. "What's your name?"
Miel, his amethyst eyes still wide, blinked slowly. As if an ancient instinct, perhaps an ingrained societal custom, took over, he bowed his head slightly, a gesture of deference. "My… my name is Miel."
"Ryel," Ryel introduced himself, extending a hand to Miel's shoulder. "Just Ryel."
Miel looked up, a glimmer of confusion and hope in his eyes. "What now? Can… can I go with you? The ritual… it's ruined."
Ryel's expression was unreadable, a blend of calculation and something akin to a new, unexpected responsibility. "Well, let's just make it between us. From now on, you will be working for me." He paused, observing Miel's reaction, which was simply bewildered acceptance. "And I will protect you in exchange." He then reconsidered his next question. "By the way, why were you offered as a sacrifice?"
He quickly waved a hand. "No, skip that for now. I want to know about you. But before that, let's go to my camp. We don't want to get caught here, not with what just happened." He glanced around, noting the obliterated trees, the scorched earth – undeniable evidence of the Dragon's final, powerful attack.
Miel simply nodded, his eyes fixed on Ryel, as if the boy now held all the answers in the universe. Together, the mismatched pair, one a master of the void, the other a mystery of regeneration, slipped into the dense shadows of the forest, leaving behind a scene of devastation and the lingering scent of vanished power.
◇◇◇◇
Far from the shattered forest, in a desolate, uneven expanse of ruins, stood a colossal, ancient structure, its crumbling walls reaching towards a bruised, ominous sky. It resembled a fractured citadel, its jagged edges hinting at a cataclysmic past. A group of five adventurers, clad in practical leather and chainmail, meticulously navigated the treacherous debris, their lanterns casting flickering shadows.
"They say ancient treasures lie within, Captain," a burly, axe-wielding warrior grunted, his voice echoing in the eerie silence. "Relics of the First Age of Aerthos, before the great Sundering."
Their leader, a shrewd-looking woman with a scar marring her left eye, nodded. "Aye, Valerius. The legends of the Whispering Crypts speak of unimaginable riches, but also of unspeakable guardians. Stay alert. We are deep within the Cursed Wastes."
They found a concealed entrance, a massive stone door disguised as part of the ruin. With a combined effort and a minor unlocking spell from their resident mage, the door groaned open, revealing a dark, yawning maw. As they stepped inside, their torches illuminating a long, descending corridor, the door slammed shut behind them with a deafening thud, plunging them into oppressive darkness for a heart-stopping moment before their torches flared back to life.
They found themselves in a vast, cavernous room, its ceiling lost in shadow, its walls adorned with crumbling, indecipherable murals depicting strange rituals and monstrous figures. The air was thick with dust and the chill of ages.
In the distant gloom, a figure slowly descended from the lofty ceiling, landing silently with an unsettling grace. It was a female, clad in black Paladin armor, its plates dull with age and scratches, yet radiating an undeniable aura of power. A short green hair framed a pale face, and upon closer inspection, intricate, almost fractal-like stitches marred her skin, particularly around her neck and wrists, as if she had been meticulously pieced together.
Her eyes, however, were the most disturbing feature: entirely empty, like vacant sockets of polished obsidian, reflecting no light, no emotion, no life. She held a massive, two-handed battle axe, its blade glinting ominously.
"What in the hell is that?" one of the adventurers, a nervous scout, whispered, his hand instinctively going for the dagger at his belt.
The captain, though wary, allowed a hint of overconfidence to color her voice. "Looks like a relic golem, or some ancient construct. Nothing we can't handle. Keep your formations!" They drew their weapons, forming a defensive semi-circle.
The Paladin, her empty eyes fixed on them, raised her battle axe. No word of warning, no challenge, just a single, chilling word, echoing flatly in the vast chamber, devoid of any discernible emotion.
"Eliminate."