Fatigue and exhaustion; these two factors led to one simple result.

Populating the silence with a heaving sigh, Brock climbed the stone staircase, the weakened forms of Harry and Fon tucked under each arm. Slowly, he was leaving the darkness and danger behind him. He could see the small outpost looming above, the brilliant blue sky even higher above that. By his estimations, he’d reach the top of the chasm in a few minutes.

With an unimpressed expression on his face, he glanced down at his passengers. It was at about the half-way mark that they couldn’t go on any longer, their bodies too strained to continue functioning as they wished. He, on the other hand, was still relatively in the clear, and unfortunately, that meant carrying them was his responsibility.

It wasn’t all that bad though, as their exhaustion had seen them falling asleep soon after he started hauling them around, and he was given some much needed time to lament on the whole situation.

Among the abundance of new and unique ores, the eeriness of the place and the beckoning darkness below, he found the latter to be the most pressing issue. Clearly, it was magical in nature, creating obscuration that defied that of mere shadows. In fact, it was much like the void in the Beyond, he believed. Thankfully, that was the only similarity this place had to it.

Then there was that beckoning from deep below. He had no idea why, but he had a gut feeling that he needed to go down there. Fortunately, he was self-aware enough to know it wasn’t him talking. That did beg the question of what was talking, though he didn’t feel too pressed to find out. He was just happy he hadn’t plummeted and went splat.

Maybe he’d try again when Erin had grown in power enough. Hopefully, by then, her earthen creations would be able to withstand his altered aura. He’d probably also need to a grow a bit himself, if he wanted to resist the idle oppression. Needless to say, he was rather curious about what lay hidden in the depths.

If only I was a bit stronger… but then, again, I don’t really want the power anyway. Brock blew a breath between his lips and as reached the final stretch of steps, he licked his lips. It wouldn’t be much longer now.

Then finally, his feet reached the first balcony, and he crested the doorway. Sighing aloud, he entered the interior of the small edge outpost, and placed his passengers on the ground. Aside from the fact that they were out cold, he knew that their Constitution should nullify any discomfort from the rough stone.

Briefly, he gazed out one of the windows, catching another glimpse of the dark depths. He chewed on his thoughts for but a moment before he decided to check something.

{3} Salvation III [F] (51.94%): Shed your burdens, be granted salvation. Does not scale with stats.

“What the…”

He had to admit, he was shocked to see that the Technique had risen in percentage. He hadn’t used it, nor had he even pondered on it like he did with his Augments. Which meant his suspicions were right. Everything; those ores, the darkness, the suppression; it was all the result of this Technique. It was the result of his use of Salvation.

And just being in that chasm seemed to be beneficial for it.

Somehow, it had imbued its energy into the land, though the questions of both how and where it got those energies from still eluded him. Licking his lips, Brock spared a glance for his resting companions and stepped outside. He glanced at the trio of mutation points left idle for the Technique but ignored them.

He would refrain from spending them until he knew more.

The breeze lapped at his face and his eyes drooped shut, and suddenly, Brock could inside of himself. He could see his Inner Self in all its glory. An array of torn pathways showed to his mind, but he went past that and directly to his Ascendancy. It beat powerfully, blasting waves of healing energy to combat the taint in his body. He focused further.

A small node appeared in his sight.

It was larger, more… developed than the other two beside it, and he could instinctively tell that it was Salvation. He prodded and studied it, hoping to glean something – anything – that could help him understand what the Technique truly did. Slowly, as he came back with nothing, he pushed some aura into it.

Unexpectedly, the Technique refused any more aura after only a small amount entered it, and he focused on the sensations of his body as it activated. His brows furrowed as his Inner Self became of flurry of activity. It was hard to tell what was going on, but… it seemed to him that his strange ability was… drawing its actual power from his body, not aura.

Upon closer inspection, it seemed his aura was merely used as some sort of shell for the mysterious power that it had pulled inward. As it prepared to travel down his paths, Brock countered it with a burst of his aura and cancelled the ability, filling him with a nauseating bout of dissonance. It soon faded, and he was left deep in thought.

What it had drawn from his body wasn’t any of the energy types Fon had described to him, he was certain. And it definitely wasn’t the energy from the Beyond either. It honestly seemed more like it was absorbing… well, a concept rather than any actual concrete energy.

Fuck. Now I have even more questions.

Clicking his tongue, Brock looked over at the gargantuan corpse of Gor’eth Kung. If the entirety of the chasm was the result of his Technique, then what kind of effects would it have done to the actual target of it? His legs blurred as he moved to find out.

As Brock ran, he checked his status and read Salvation’s description one last time. Shed your burdens, be granted salvation…

Shed your burdens… From what he knew, to ‘shed a burden’ was to remove a binding, a demerit of sorts, or just a heavy weight, that much he understood, at least from the context. Hmmm.

Brock’s eyes narrowed and snapped to Gor’eth’s obliterated arm as he approached, the meat stripped and hanging from shattered bone. He glanced down at his own ruined limb. Then he glanced back. The break was in roughly the same place…

His eyes widened in realisation.

The ‘Burden’… is my wounds. He nodded. That made sense to him. The concept his Technique was drawing from was the concept of injury. But then… why do I still have no fucking arm?

To rid himself of burdens would theoretically mean to heal himself, right? To transfer the damage? It sounded reasonable, but Brock had a sneaking suspicion that it wasn’t so simple. Things never were when it came to his life.

Unfortunately.

Finally, his feet skidded to a stop only a dozen meters before the giant corpse, and his eyes ran over all the lines and grooves created by the cooling of the Tyrant’s molten scales. It was like a grand statue, majestic and eye-catching. Brock felt the intense waves of his altered aura emanating off of it, as well as a maelstrom of various, tangled energies. They slapped into him like a physical presence.

As strong as they were - far stronger than the thin traces he found in the chasm - Brock could detect several he had experienced personally before, just based off the feels they gave his bodily senses. The invasive energy of the Beyond, the wonderous power of Original Life, even South’s strange Augment of Warping and Little Shit’s Augment of Skies; they were all here. But most prevalent of all, was the overpowering presence of fire.

Brock could tell instantly by its quality and strength that it wasn’t his own, nor an effect of Salvation, but instead Gor’eth’s own Augment residue on his body. Most probably, it was what was left from the fiery power that animated his body, preventing it from cooling like it had currently.

But that was irrelevant right now.

Everything was clear to Brock. His wounds were considered his ‘burden’, but that burden was a variable for the Technique to draw its power from. If he took the obvious… reflection of the damages he had taken over the course of the past few months into account, then Salvation’s power was painfully evident to him.

Its true effect seemed to be the ability to reflect damage that Brock had sustained, apparently over any period of time, not to transfer damage. As he thought back, he realised that that must have been why he taken such a considerable beating to his pathways when using the Technique.

Sure, the instability of his upscaled aura was probably still one of the culprits, but that only really explained the stretches and bulges. His aura wouldn’t have torn his paths.

But, on the other hand, the amount of damage he had accrued in the months leading up to his usage of Salvation would have been… considerable, to say the least. It seemed to be some sort of balancing act in that regard. He couldn’t stockpile ‘burden’ endlessly or he’d tear himself apart when he finally used the Technique.

He’d need to choose when to keep it and when to reset his counter.

Nonetheless, a toothy grin broke out on Brock’s face as he finally uncovered his Techniques’ true nature. It wasn’t a Hail Mary, last hope attack, like he’d initially thought. It was an act of revenge, the ability to return the pain and torture another had inflicted upon him in kind. My powers just keep getting weirder and more ominous…

It didn’t seem to him like it’d be useful in the shorter fights he usually found himself embroiled in, but in a prolonged brawl, especially one where it was a stalemate, this Technique would be a priceless game changer.

One last time, he opened his status to check Salvation’s description. At this point it was more out of habit than anything els-

Huh?

Augment of Sparks (64.02%)

If he wasn’t mistaken, then his Augment had increased by an entire two percent since he had last checked his status only a few minutes ago. Immediately, his senses zoned in on the sensation of Gor’eth’s fire. His Augment was a prevalent presence in the air, and while it wasn’t exactly oppressive, it was certainly overpowering, far more so than Brock’s own Augments.

Despite that, as he prodded and pulled on the energy passively emanated by it, he felt inspiration strike him at almost every moment from the sheer difference in quality. His Augment rose another percentage. His smile widened. Gor’eth Kung was an E Grade monster, so getting a chance to bath in his Augment like this was immensely beneficial and Brock knew it.

If there were grades for Augments, he knew for certain that Gor’eth’s was one above his own. He was certain he’d be able to make an insane amount of progress with his Augment here, if he gave himself enough time. For now, though, he knew he had stuff he needed to do elsewhere.

The thought dripped venom in his mind. But he supposed the corpse wasn’t going anywhere.

Certainly, it was great to know that he had such a place suited toward improving his Augment. If anything, aside from his wounded sister, it gave him a strong reason to stay here, and if he was honest, that’s exactly what he was looking for. He had been missing something for a long while since the world changed, and he knew what it was. He had for a long time.

It was a home. A place where he could forget the climb to power and live his days in relaxation.

Alice Springs would never truly be his home, mostly because he fucking hated the place, and he knew he couldn’t go back to his lonely apartment, as it was probably rubble by now. But this place, King’s Cavity, he had saved these people, gave them another chance at life, a chance to rebuild. And he had a place here, one he could turn into the home he was looking for.

Travelling the world and living the free life had its appeal and joys, but Brock was tired of it at this point, and he wanted some stability in a world of the unstable. He looked to the wall of King’s Cavity in the distance and a small smile stretched across his face. He had friends. He had reunited with some of his family.

Life… wasn’t going too bad. He just hoped it’d stay that way.

**

It was an utter labyrinth of golden roots and flora. The danger… well, it was so minimal that Zin found himself snarling. One of many roots tried their hand at slashing him and before it even got within a meter of his person, it was dissembled to tumbling chunks. His sword was sheathed before the pieces even hit the ground.

In his other hand, his tracker was beeping steadily, the screeching sound signifying that he was on the right track. The Error had definitely been here some time ago, that much was certain. While he didn’t hold out much hope for the creature’s strength when they’d finally meet, he had to admit that it had grown remarkably quick.

Considering the limiter that the Great Machine would have placed upon its ability to level, he hadn’t expected it to reach such a high levelled place. In the perspectives of a fresh initiate, at least.

As he glanced at the level displayed on the nameplate of a smaller creature preparing to prey upon him in the roots, Zin snorted. A pop resounded and a spray of icy gore coated the flora around it as its body was frozen and summarily shattered, “Level thirty? Well, if this planet isn’t the definition of a backwater shit hole, then I don’t know what is.”

With his voice echoing to a silent surroundings, he came to a crossroad. Clicking his tongue, the Inquisitor waved his tracker around, and quickly caught the trail once more. His eyes pierced through the fog easily.

He was rather certain that the Error no longer resided here, but he knew it wouldn’t hurt to follow every trace of it, if just for clues as to its potential whereabouts. Unfortunately, the trail abruptly ran cold as he entered a divine clearing. A gargantuan tree towered overhead, the inscriptions in its trunk almost mesmerising.

Zin didn’t even notice the beeping had stopped, “…a Source… a real Source”

He glanced down at the tracker finally, and upon realising its inactivity, snarled. The residue of the Error’s signature seemed to end right at the top of the root woven steps, speaking of what Zin believed was teleportation. He calmed down somewhat. That wasn’t too hard to follow. He accessed his storage ring and several items flickered into existence around him.

If one found the originating coordinate, divining the destination coordinate was fairly easy if one wasn’t a half-wit. All it required was a simple ritual. Zin snatched the inscription spike out of the air and began carving a circle around where he’d tracked the teleportation to have taken place. He’d give himself an hour or so, then he’d be back to tracking the vile creature.

It would be a fool to think itself the only being capable of manipulating space.