Sorothom shuddered, unable to prevent the fluctuation in his aura.
“What is it?” Eisorn spat.
“It’s nothing, sir,” Sorothom said, arduously stifling his anger. He was the Founding Pope of the Kan’Tanu yet forced to grovel like a servant. “Moro is struggling against the restraints. And with the expenditure of setting up the nodes for the ritual…”
Eisorn looked at Sorothom for a few moments before scoffing. Still, he took out a red-and-black braid, which greatly surprised Sorothom. It looked like his handler was anxious enough to dip into his own stock, going so far as to take out a [Selfless Braid] that only B-grade Heart Elders could fashion.
Sorothom was just an acolyte when breaking off from the main sect, but he knew just how expensive they were. It wasn’t just a matter of having the money, either. Heart Elders were rare, and creating a braid was both time-consuming and taxing. A Reincarnator would have to ‘assist’ in their experiments or accomplish deadly tasks to even get their foot through the door. Unfortunately, Eisorn was likely spared that torment, being the leader of their covert mission.
“This is the only one. If you still can’t hold it together until our mission is accomplished, then our promises won’t matter. The true mantras won’t save you if you can’t regain the ground you’ve lost. You will fall from the defense, and your companion isn’t qualified to ascend on its own.”
“It’s just a temporary setback,” Sorothom assured. “I’ve spent too much time in the graveyard, and some of the turbulence has seeped into—”
“I’m not interested,” Eisorn cut him off. “Your ineptitude let the Empyrean Throne escape. If you further harm our undertaking with your instability… “
“It won’t happen,” Sorothom assured the Black Heart Hall Master.
Eisorn delighted in suppressing his frontier cousins, especially those stronger than him. Sorothom had almost control for real from the many times this haughty bastard had waved his Curse Authority in his face.
What would Eisorn think if he found out it was all a guise? Sorothom’s avatar was madly laughing inside his world as he looked at the ancient array disk in his hand. It was this thing that had started his long, unsuccessful search in the graveyard. For the first time, it was releasing a low hum after connecting with its Mother Array.
The Intersector War had come like a blessing from above just as he’d given up any hope of ever finding where the disk led. Sorothom could instead ascend using a grand sacrificial array by using the war as fuel. The joy was short-lived. His carefully arranged tapestry was torn asunder just before he’d make his move, returning him to square one.
He had been reluctant to accept the Black Heart Sect’s offer, holding onto a lingering hope the graveyard’s nexus would show itself now that fate was reaching its Zenith. It was at that time he received the message that changed everything. Sorothom had been skeptical throughout, but everything was happening just like it said.
There was hope yet.
The next hours were critical. There couldn’t be any mistakes, and Sorothom couldn’t let his taskmaster know an extraordinary opportunity had appeared nearby. Thankfully, Eisorn was fully absorbed with ensuring their preparations were up to standard. What they were about to do was liable to draw the attention of the Ruthless Heavens and, by extension, those who could catch glimpses of its operations.
They couldn’t have that. The Black Heart Sect had been suppressed to the point they couldn’t even get a seat at the table, forcing them to sneak in through a hidden pathway from the Eternal Storm. The orthodox factions would band together if they realized what they were up to.
The Heaven-obscuring platform was already active, and thousands of Stygian Anchors had stabilized the area. The storms of the inner Imperial Graveyard were redirected by their aura, forming a vast, stable region. Everything was prepared for the next step.
“Activate the Fate Severance,” Eisorn ordered.
The Hall Master’s subordinates obeyed without a word, and a wall of separation isolated fate and Karma of the one thousand Hegemons spread across the Heaven-obscuring platform. Whatever actions took place within would be no concern of the Heavens, and it wouldn’t implicate the observers outside who’d arranged everything.
“The children are ready,” the Blood Priest said from his altar, his toothless mouth curved upward in a raving smile.
Sorothom could smell the stench of putrid blood and fell Karma from his position. He really didn’t miss these lunatics, even if they were necessary to bring out the full potential of the Black Heart Rituals.
“Strength is the only creed of the Black Heart Sect,” Eisorn said, his voice echoing through the region. “Prove yourself worthy. Turn the weak into fuel for your ascension. Begin the ritual.”
Rivers of blood poured onto the etched plateau as the pawns fought for their lives, slaughtering and being slaughtered by their brothers and sisters. The platform was only two miles across, making the desperation and ferocity far greater than during a traditional ritual that utilized whole dozens of miles of varied terrain. There was no scheming, no planning, no time to set up an ambush. There were enemies breathing down their necks from every direction, and it was only kill or be killed.
All the while, Eisorn’s fingers twitched within his sleeves. His actions might seem innocuous to others, but they couldn’t fool Sorothom’s experienced gaze. The Hall Master was subtly influencing the flow of battle, ensuring none of his picks ended up with a seal early. Instead, it was the elites Sorothom had mustered that were the ‘lucky’ ones to find seals in the chests of their enemies.
One burst of transcendent light after another showered the platform in glorious truth. For the participants, it was a beacon, their sole hope of survival. Paradoxically, finding one was a death sentence. The participants descended on the lights like starving ghosts, and those who unearthed the seal almost invariably died first under a cavalcade of attacks.
There were twenty-seven seal pieces spread among the thousands, which meant no more than twenty-seven would walk away alive. More likely, it would be fewer than that as the strongest would collect more than one. Not to mention, some would become ash from overestimating their fate or picking the wrong court.
Most seals were collected from years of warring. They’d sold off most to keep up appearances while hiding away some for themselves. A dozen had been claimed through the frenzy the graveyard was going through, and those who’d joined in on the feast.
A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.
Soon, the free-for-all reached the expected balance. The weaker participants had become fuel for the platform, their blood already filling the etched pathways. The stronger ones each surrounded a seal, though none dared to claim it. Only when the numbers dwindled a bit further would they make their move.
The unclaimed seals released increasingly powerful pulses of truth in an attempt to attract a suitable bearer. With each pulse, the platform trembled, and Sorothom sneered as he heard the excitable chatter from the Array Masters.
“How is it?” Eisorn asked with feigned diffidence. Sorothom knew very well the Hall Master’s reward depended on the answer.
“It’s complete!” the leading Threadweaver exclaimed. “The signal is being sent out through the Stygian Array as we speak.”
Moments passed before a light lit up on the large crystal sphere the Array Masters huddled around.
“It works,” Eisorn exhaled, glancing in Sorothom’s direction. “Your idea of connecting the plateau with your Stygian Anchors to extend the reach was quite good.”
“Just a small contribution after learning some tricks of this place,” Sorothom said with a bow, inwardly cackling. They hadn’t noticed!
“Today’s feat would still be impossible without the Main Sect’s profound means.”
“That’s true,” Eisorn nodded.
New lights appeared on the crystal one after another as its controllers scanned different sections of the Imperial Graveyard. Each new light added to the excitement, and Eisorn looked about ready to host a banquet after the fifteenth light had appeared. Sorothom acted appropriately impressed, even if the signals were all fake. After all, the Stygian Anchors weren’t designed to look for seals.
They were doing something else entirely.
The carnage had greatly slowed down by the time they’d reached the half-hour mark. Less than two hundred candidates remained, almost all of them exhausted and covered in wounds. Some had managed to seize a ticket through sheer brutality. With less blood spilled and fewer lights in the open, the efficacy of the array would also slow down.
Sorothom worried they’d notice the discrepancies after they’d calmed down from their fever pitch. It was a bit early, but he might as well go. Sorothom had waited long enough for this moment.
“This is taking too long. The anchors will give in before we’ve reached the end. I’ll help things along,” Sorothom growled as veins bulged and blood-red teeth grew on his arms, mimicking a mental schism.
“Fool, stop!” Eisorn roared as a wall formed between them.
Sorothom inwardly snickered, maintaining the visage of someone losing control. This little tyrant was a thousand years early to stop him when he’d made his decision. The cascade of acid he’d sent out suddenly disappeared after eating a hole through the dimensional fabric, appearing right above the platform. Toxic rain descended, and participants fell by the dozens, leaving only putrid blood behind. Twelve seals were unearthed in an instant, most of them from the elites Eisorn had been subtly assisting.
“No!”
“Cry! Despair!” Sorothom howled with laughter as mouths formed all over his body. “The lights…! The lights are glowing!”
“You’ve tainted fate, you backwater bastard! I knew we couldn’t count on a stray dog like you,” Eisorn growled, his eyes turning into wriggling sigils. “Use your life to appease the River of Fate.”
And nothing happened. Moro wriggled with displeasure within Sorothom’s Inner World, which was the extent of what the Hall Master’s sacrificial trigger managed to accomplish. The duo had been waiting for this moment. Moro withered from instilling Sorothom with almost all its strength, showing no hints of the many seals and layers of suppression he was supposed to be under.
Sorothom became a blur, leveraging his superior attributes and comprehension even further. His hand was already inside Eisorn’s chest before he could react, sealing down his companion and Inner World with the weight of a nigh-perfected world.
“You’re immune—” Eisorn gasped. “That’s impossible!”
“Nothing is impossible, sir,” Sorothom grinned as his fist clenched, unleashing a wave of destruction thattore apart the Black Heart Elder’s inner world and scattered its pieces into the void.
A narrow-minded fool like Eisorn would never understand how a frontier cultivator could overcome their methods, and there was no point in explaining. The things he’d discovered in the depths might not have been enough to become a Divine Monarch, but they had given him certain unique advantages.
“Lunatic,” Eisorn wheezed while leaking life and strength like a sieve. “The Black Heart Sect knows what happened here. You will not get what you seek.”
“Is that so?” Sorothom leered, grabbing the crippled Monarch by his throat. “I’m tired of hearing from you. Use your life to appease the River of Fate.”
Sorothom exhaled, releasing a swarm of critters that burrowed into Eisorn’s body. He twitched from pain, but the [Lifelink Beetles] wouldn’t let him die. Sorothom tore off one of his fingers and used it to draw a series of bloody runes on the Hall Master’s chest. Karma became tainted, and most of Sorothom’s blame for interfering with the seals was placed on Eisorn’s shoulders.
A wave of hollow exhaustion almost made Sorothom collapse. He’d offset too much, too many times. Longevity aside, he wasn’t long for the world if he couldn’t advance and seize more providence. Today had to be worth it.
Every single cultist atop the platform had been reduced to blood by the time Sorothom had dealt with Eisorn’s subordinates outside. The toxic rain had indiscriminately swept through their ranks. Not even Sorothom’s grand disciple was spared. What were such fragile bonds worth before the Grand Dao and his pursuits?
Sorothom waved his sleeve, and hundreds of engraved heads flew toward the plateau. Each took its position following the provided pattern. Meanwhile, dozens of hooded warriors emerged from one of the seized Cosmic Vessels, with no signs of the brands that were supposed to seal them. They flew toward the platform, but a snort from Sorothom stopped them in their tracks.
“Have we done something to displease Your Eminence?”
Sorothom turned to the source of the question. “Not at all. Neither have you made me very happy.”
“Our Lord’s message should have proven accurate for Your Eminence to strike,” the Imperial Envoy said. “The next step—”
“Where is that shifty little princeling, anyhow?” Sorothom said with a raised brow. “He doesn’t strike me as one to hold back when presented with such a spread.”
“He is fulfilling his part of the agreement, waiting on our end,” she answered with a bow. “The seals will soon disappear unless our people are let through the curtain. As we agreed upon, the seals will be claimed by our side.”
“I remember. But I’m still not seeing your end of the bargain. Where is it?”
“A blank Writ of Peerage, as promised,” the Envoy said, displaying an archaic scroll teeming with power. “Beware, should your condition be exposed—”
“I know, you’ll wash your hands off me,” Sorothom said.
The warning was unnecessary. There was no way he’d settle down in the Seventh Heaven after this. He was a loose thread and an unsavory character. He’d be lucky to last the day. The writ could, however, be traded for similar status elsewhere, where his identity wasn’t known.
Sorothom’s eyes gleamed with greed upon seeing they’d actually complied with his demand, and he had to fight the instincts to seize it by force. He could slaughter these imperials with a wave of his sleeve, but doing so risked ruining the real prize. Having the writ was useless if he let the opportunity to break through slip away.
It was Yvin Tobrial who had approached him with a plan, even providing schematics only Sorothom knew about, schematics he’d seen when finding the daughter array in the core of the Imperial Graveyard. The princeling seemed to know almost as much as Sorothom, including some details he hadn’t managed to piece together.
Yvin’s message was simple. The infernal brat who’d ruined Sorothom’s plans was gunning for the same thing as he, and he even had the key. However, that would become his downfall. Reaching his destination would awaken the base, which Sorothom’s Daughter Array had confirmed. It was no longer a fool’s hope to find it.
However, it was ultimately a clandestine base created by the Limitless Empire. Knowing where it was only solved half the problem. Reaching it without the key was impossible for him, let alone the little princeling. They needed someone else to create a path, which was where the ritual came in. The Stygian Anchors were never meant to look for seals. They were meant to amplify a signal while stabilizing space enough to let it reach its distant destination.
The engraved heads altered the arrays engraved on the Heaven-obscuring platform, allowing it to fully connect with the Stygian Anchors. A concentrated pulse holding the aura of the Left Imperial Palace shot toward a distant location, a seemingly normal storm formation full of spatial tears and resentment.
Only an experienced traveler in the graveyard would notice there was something different about it, something dangerous. They weren’t normal rifts. They were tears leading to the cracks between realities.
The message had been sent. Now, they only needed to wait for the answer.
