Chapter 115

Legacy of an Immortal

The two were back on the road once more, their footsteps quickly erased by the falling snow, leaving no trace they ever walked through. Nonetheless, the winds carried their voices forth into the reaches beyond their sight, adrift.

Sylas was confident, if not in winning, at least in dragging the battle much longer than before. He had the complete intention of sacrificing as much of himself as possible if it would gain him a victory, as it would likely lead to some more answers. Son of Anur, whoever he may be, may not be the key, Sylas mused, to all the locks that held the gates of heaven tightly closed, but he was the prying mantis that would allow him to at least peek through the keyhole.

Mysteries were abundant, and even before unraveling one, he would beset himself with five extra ones. Strangely, however, it wasn’t as though they were completely disconnected from one another; here and there, bits and pieces, sometimes even large chunks, were connected by the bridges of relationships. Everything, it seemed, stemmed from perhaps not a singular root, but a few that themselves shared the dirt that gave birth to them.

The boy-turned-man, who so easily dispatched him the last time, on the surface seemed like a random anomaly--and yet, somewhere in his straying shadow, there’s a link to the Kingdom’s current Queen and King, who are in turn connected to Valen, who in turn--or, rather, whose Gift, in turn, connected him to the Realm of Dead, the state which was then further connected to the city Sylas discovered beyond the border. And then there were Shadows, tapping into the shades and shimmers of death for their bidding.

Though he had all these motes, nodes of knowledge that broadened his horizons, the definitive links were missing. Even the nodes themselves had major disparities in terms of how much he knew with certainty. In the end, it was all a blur. There were no anomalies--even Agnes, for some reason, had been given visions of him long before they met, by the actual Gods of this world. In him, a certain suspicion arose--that those very Gods had dragged him from Earth’s slumbering ashes and plotted him here, for one reason or another.

He couldn't help but sigh at it all--how simpler the times were, he mused, when he first arrived. All he had to worry about was an army of zombie-like creatures, and a traitor or two. Since then, a mountain--or a few--of knowledge had piled onto his mind, some of which was already rotting in the depths of his memory, all but forgotten.

“What are you sighing for?” she asked him as they approached the edge of the forest.

“Everything,” he shrugged. “I think I’ll take a year-long break or so after this one.”

“Why?”

"To train a bit," he said. "Refresh my talisman knowledge. Drink. Sleep. Peek at women bathing."

“Hey!!”

“I’m kidding.”

“You better!”

“I just need to reset my brain,” he said, tapping the side of his head. “It’s runnin’ on fumes right now.”

“Well, you do have limited capacity for thought,” she said.

“Nice.”

“Thanks.”

“That aside, what about you? Will you join me or will you disappear for a while yourself?”

“Disappear where?” she shrugged. “May as well watch over you, make sure you aren’t peeking places you oughtn’t.”

“... oughtn’t can’t be a fuckin’ word. No way.”

“Hah. Maybe we can use that time to educate you a bit.”

“You should wait outside the village this time around,” he said suddenly.

“Huh? Why?” she quizzed.

"It's gonna be explosive," he said. "And I won't be able to protect you. I plan on going all-out, in part to see my limits, but also try and get some answers from the guy. You can observe my badassery from a safe distance."

“... fine,” she said. “You better win, then.”

“Shit, now I’m getting nervous,” he said. “I need to take a piss.”

“Couldn’t you have maintained that shred of delicacy you had to never mention your business to me?!!” she asked intensely.

“No, no, now that we’re friends, we need to be knockin’ down these walls, you know? True friends can watch each other shittin’ and still grin.”

“Just shut the fuck up and piss yourself to death.”

“Well, I pissed you off to death. Would be poetic.”

“Oh my god...”

Sylas followed the same steps as every other time they snuck into the village--just without her by his side. It was strange, though liberating; he didn’t have to repeatedly look over his shoulder and keep her in his peripheral vision, just in case something jumped at them.

It all played out the same, despite his worry--the boy came to pick him up, leading him to the underground room where, after some wait, the twins joined. He played along for a moment, wondering whether there’d be any major changes--but there weren’t. As such, when he noticed that the voices were wrapped in the atmosphere, he stabbed out with the dagger, killing both twins by killing just one. And, just like the last time, the room fell silent as he cracked his neck and stood up, drawing out the blade and waiting.

The boy became a man and looked at him. The conversation was the same, and he was unable to pry much from the man--only that he was definitely not an ordinary ‘human’ since he spoke of certain events that happened over three hundred years ago... as though he’d been there, in first person. Though it could have been mind games, Sylas doubted it; after all, there was no reason. To the man, Sylas was ‘just’ an Exorcist, and nothing more.

Taking a deep breath, he waited for it--the strike. It came, as swiftly as the last time, the dagger flashing through the void itself and aiming for his neck. He was unable to dodge it, he knew; as such, he didn’t bother. He thrust the blade forward, aiming directly for the man’s heart. The latter dodged, once again slithering forward in an attempt to nick Sylas’ neck. Having expected it, Sylas abused the fact that his body was no longer a human’s and swung the sword to the side while still in the thrusting motion.

Though his bones creaked and his muscles cried, nothing snapped or broke. The man reeled back in shock, bringing down the dagger and barely deflecting the strike, though he still ended up with a cut at his left side. He didn’t immediately attack, instead keeping his distance, wariness in the eyes growing.

He slouched forward slightly, clearly entering a proper stance this time around. The room was silent, the world was silent, and their hearts were silent--Sylas was shocked inwardly over the man’s absolute body control. Despite clearly being surprised, his heart barely skipped a beat before returning to its normal state.

The two stared at each other for a few moments before they broke out into attacks; Sylas still aimed for the heart, the only attack he had that had any chance of working, while the man dodged once again, ducking beneath the blade instead of slithering to the side. Though he didn’t exactly expect it, Sylas was prepared, once again doing something that shouldn’t be possible--while still in the thrusting motion, he veered the blade to the side so that its sharp edge faced down, and cleaved it against the laws of gravity.

Evidently, the man didn’t dedicate himself fully to the strike, immediately rolling out of the blade’s trajectory and dodging the strike while using the opportunity to open a massive gash on Sylas’ right calf. The latter, however, didn’t seem to even notice it, immediately recoiling the sword and stabbing toward the man who barely had a moment to recover before he was forced to roll away once again.

Sylas caught a breath and, instead of thrusting, swept violently at the man’s general position. The latter, instead of confidently using the sporadic strike to sneak into Sylas’ dead region, rolled out of the sweep nimbly, electing to instead toss the dagger at Sylas’ shoulder. The latter was incapable of dodging it, partly because he was still in the sweeping motion, but partly because the dagger moved at the speed of thunder.

It lodged itself cleanly but, seemingly bored with the notion, Sylas reached out with his other arm and ripped it out, letting himself be bereaved of blood. The two paused, both catching their breath for a moment.

“Who the hell are you?” the man’s frown had formed deep creases on his face, his voice hoarse and dry.

“Just an old man lookin’ for an adventure,” Sylas gave out a non-answer with a grin. “If you wanna know more, we gotta got tit-for-tat, as they say. What say you, Son of Anur?”

“... it’s like that, isn’t it?” the man’s gaze sharpened suddenly as dark, thick shadows of black began to swirl out of his fingers and round the daggers. “Seeing your skill level... it’s pointless to try and capture you. But... I will find out who sent you.”

“Ah, I very much doubt that.”

“I always get my answers.”

“From men, perhaps,” Sylas grinned.

“... what... what do you mean?”

"Wars are not something mankind had invented," Sylas continued. "But something we inherited."

“No, that’s impossible!!” the man suddenly roared. Sylas grinned inwardly, his blind stab getting some reaction, at least. “There hasn’t been a Champion of Gods since we destroyed the Imporium’s Cairn! Who was it?!! TELL ME!! WHO IS THE FOOL WHO REBUILT THE DAMN THING?!!!” the dark shadows that stood rooted to the daggers thus far suddenly erupted and covered the man’s entire body, edifying him in darkness. “DO THEY NOT UNDERSTAND WHAT THEY WROUGHT UPON THIS WORLD?!! MY BLOOD AND BLOOD OF MY BLOOD SLAVED FOR THOUSANDS OF YEARS TO THOSE THINGS!! It took everything, everything we had to free ourselves of the Godly Chains! We had to usurp the echoes of the death, make deal with Calibrium, sell our sons and daughters in the final prayer of freedom!” Jesus, fuck. That’s a lot of information to throw at me, dude! “Who was it?!!” the man asked once again--no, he was no longer a man. He was a humanoid shadow with blood-red eyes and a spiked crown of blades on top of his head. “Who brought you here?!”

“You use something that doesn’t belong to you,” Sylas tried to force out a bit more before devoting himself to the last strike. “Not to mention the time that should have been another’s.”

“Hah. So be it. We shall find who it was. If lips were to be trusted, it's likely my own children, dreaming of the Great Empire's return. Fools. I should have never founded it! Come now, the man of God, and die!”

“...” Sylas, though absent-minded over the nuke of information that just obliterated his thoughts, still moved on instinct. He’d use it all, everything he had, in the clash. Whatever the outcome may be.