Chapter 19

Flashback…untold millennia ago

Jahad, the King of the Tower, the God King, the Immortal, and countless other titles to decorate his red mantle. Stories say he could see the entire world underneath the mask of the three red eyes…that he could see and weave the future as he saw fit.

In one hand, he held the tower…in the other, he held the chains of fate itself. Such was his strength, his charisma, his power, that even those who travelled alongside him began to believe that he was something more. However even a god has to begin from something less.

The adventurer, the truth seeker, the curious child who had once entered the tower was nowhere to be found. Only short memories…and the fact that the child had once shared a name. But he was no longer in there, no…

The Hell Train had been the changing point of everything. It was there he saw his destiny of what was to come. It was there power was offered, and power he took.

Entering the Train was a naive child who was struck by the glories the tower had to offer. A child whose only interests was adventure, freedom, and the joys within uncaring, unknowing, of his own destiny.

What left the train was far more than anything the tower had ever seen to date. Exiting the train on the last station was the God King of the tower, the sole Divine Emperor of the Empire of Jahad.

(AN: The Emperor Protects!)

Flashback end

At the heart of the train of Hell, two swordsman clashed their blades together. Each cut for supremacy, each swing a testament to their strength, the angle of each showed their lack of hesitation.

By the tower’s established rules, those without the blood of the Arie could not, would not, be able to read or follow the Arie blade. To follow the flow of shinsu instead was next to impossible; blocking, parrying, or even matching it was a feat heard only in legend.

There was only one known way to beat an Arie swordsmanship user without being a seer in the sights of shinsu, to endure.

Flipping aside the established rules, it meant one thing; Arie members can read each other’s blades…and that held true for the two who were at the Throne Room.

Hoaquin and Pandora, both direct children of his most holy, Arie Hon, were fighting for their very lives…or rather their souls. To others, it may seem as if the blades were nonexistent as the white gleam of shinsu appeared and disappeared throughout the space around them faster than one could blink; however, to the trained eyes of an Arie member, it was a dance of death…a book drenched in blood. A book that was too easy to read.

White Style: Spirit Sword - Flame of the Dead!

A single burst of white shinsu from Hoaquin’s blade came rushing fourth to devour anything in its path.

White Style: Spirit Sword - Phantom Sword of the Dead!

His first great attack was followed by an incredibly powerful downward slash. The floors of the train, forged by the Workshop itself, slightly cut from its sheer strength.

Pandora’s Curse: Aergia (Sloth), Impenetrable Fortress

Her blade stood strong against the powerful strokes as she shrugged off the attack most would have easily died from.

Hoaquin’s strokes smelled of unnecessary cruelty, of rusted blood, and the signs of sadism. Life was not reaped in one, two, but rather slow deliberate deaths drawn out to maximize the pain and the taste of the victims in question. The blade he carried was full of corruption from the hatred of its victims, the agony of it’s fallen, and the abyss inside Hoaquin himself. To Pandora, this was read as if it was a book.

The same could be said for Hoaquin, however, as he too saw and read the swordsmanship of his younger sister. Pandora’s swordsmanship was almost clinically heartless, robotic, and textbook. There was little emotion or heart to speak of. Each strike was aimed to kill, each stroke focused on efficiency, the blade itself honed to reap souls before life had a chance to respond. It was…almost blank, but cruelly effective.

Even then, Hoaquin could not help but notice the stench of his…their…father in her stance, her stokes, and blows. Her very fighting style, which she did not seem comfortable somehow, reeked of her father’s interference.

“Father taught you, didn’t he” He snarled at his little sister. Pandora, on the other hand, simply looked him in the eye blankly as she continued to weave around his strokes before trying to pierce him through the heart.

She fought him with just one good eye, following all of his movements and attacks, with her left eye hidden under an eyepatch. An eyepatch which signified her alliance with his fated enemy.

“Jahad” He snarled. It was not that he necessarily hated Jahad, but it was rather his detested father and his allegiance to the Empire of the said King. It was because of his damned father that be became who he was…it was all his fault.

“Father did teach me” Surprisingly, the girl responded. Casually parrying away another strike as she said so. “From the day I was crowned a Princess, he taught me personally…and showed great pride in me” She smiled slightly, nostalgic at the memory. How many years had it been since she had returned home?

Now she was dozens of floors (or worlds) away facing off against her brother to the death. Life had its way of making things interesting.

“Father…father taught you personally?” The White King’s brow furrowed as his eyes narrowed. His lips became strained in disbelief and anger as he continued. “Father…our father showed care? Pride?”

It was as if he believed very concept of such emotions was impossible for their fathers. Impossible…or was it…inferiority?

“LIES!” He roared in anger.

The blade of light was gone in a flash as an explosion of shinsu forced Pandora backwards. When the dust died down, she knew she would be facing off against a different Hoaquin. The smiling demeanor was gone as was his former blade.

A bleeding red jewel sat in the cross guard of the new double handed blade as it dyed the whole blade blood red. Red and white shinsu began vibrating the air around the sharp edges as it hummed in anticipation for another victim to reap.

“Lies! Father would never…not even I…no…” He caught himself before returning to his kingly self “His Majesty will make sure you are dead by nightfall, pet of our father.”

POV Hoaquin, the Slayer Candidate

He hated the eyes (or eye, because it is singular) she gave him…it was the same eyes as his father. Indifference, lacking, disinterest. It were those same eyes that caused him to become what he was today…it was all their fault.

Flashback

He too had once been a subject of pride for his father…he too had once been an innocent child. A child with dreams and aspirations. A child with hope and faith in the tower, the King, and most importantly his own father.

He had first met his father when he had barely picked up his blade. His father, however, did not recognize him…after all, he was merely one of many. A passing, fleeting, life whereas the life of a Family Leader lasted forever, ruled forever, and remained strong forever.

It was his dream and goal to surpass his father. To prove the impossible…and do as what should be done. A son surpassing his father and making his father proud. But the eyes which welcomed him when he stated such to his own father was not one of expectations, or even one of amusement, or disbelief…it was mockery, followed soon after with disinterest.

The short moment of pride his father had in him was gone, the interest passed, his value lost. So he fought and fought to prove himself and yet time and yet again he failed to prove his worth to his father…nothing changed…

Until he took the Ancient Demon’s curse onto himself.

He remembers the first time he had used the ability of ‘Soul Eating’ on another. The first time the life of another was reaped by his own hands as he felt the same body go cold, rigid, and dead.

The sickly sweet taste of another’s soul as the addictive flavor strengthen him. He felt stronger…he was stronger. He had found his answer to surpass his father.

But with the answer came dread of what he was to become. The piles of the dead he would have to make, the countless innocents reaped, and the souls he would have to take. With just one, he felt his mind go numb. When he saw his own hands, he saw them still drenched in the blood of his first victim.

No amount of water or regret washed away the blood. No amount of ignoring or denying took away the stench of death. It was who he was now…it was too late to turn back now as already he was beginning to respond to the thirst.

The thirst for souls, the thirst for blood.

Each reaping took away a small part of himself as he lost himself to the power of the demon. But each time he would look back on the decision, the newfound strength in his very self said otherwise and the burning thirst for the dead prevented him from considering anymore. What was done was done, and he was who he is.

It was then he saw his father again and the first time he saw a different expression since the very beginning. The small child within him had desired acknowledgment from his father…a word of anything…

If he said so, he would throw all of it away.

It he said so, he would kill it all.

Yet the silence from his mouth was crueler than the sharp edge of a blade. It cut deep into his heart from his failure to prove himself once again.

The only change, however, was the look of disgust his father had given him. As if he could smell the stench of the souls sticking onto his empty hearth, the demon who had given him this sickly power.

Flashback end

It was the same eyes…the same look the the girl in front of him was giving him now. The glare angered him to no end as his heart began to beat faster. More shinsu was pumped into his essence and blade as the blade transformed into its second form.

He would kill his kin today but it mattered not…he had killed his very own brothers and sisters before. He had merged with the five, left his mark on the family, swore to kill his father. One more wouldn’t taint the blade.

… …

“You control all that power! A Power like those of his Majesty!” He roared as the Slayer Candidate rushed forward “And yet you remain yourself! Uncorrupted, Untainted!”

His strikes were beginning to overwhelm her. The blade, more powerful than before, began chipping away at hers, Azurite.

“The UNBROKEN does not deserve that power! A Power without sacrifice should not exist!”

White Style: Spirit Sword - Rise of the Dead!

A flurry of skillful slashes made its way towards her at unbelievable velocities. Each strike wide, covering great amounts of space, and each strike capable of dealing great amounts of damage.

Pandora, reading the stroke forward, slipped through some while she guided the others away from her. Coming from his ultimate unharmed.

“You…How dare you insult his Majesty! You are not worthy of your blade! The swordsmanship that you wield is an insult to the pride of the family!”

White Style: Spirit Sword - Wake of the Dead

The space around her ripped into a hundred different dimensions as each sent force a strike from the slayer candidate’s blade. Simultaneously, covering all grounds…she knew she could not escape.

Yet, wasn’t this why she trained? This was not her first time dealing with the unavoidable, unstoppable attacks.

Blessing of Ares’: Fury’s Protection

A burst of pure godly aura exploded out of her as the strikes were rendered useless. Leaving only a healing fabric of space and a dumbfounded expression on the Slayer Candidate.

Does he truly believe that we are equal? That his deeds of evil, his fall of self, grants him the means and worth to the power he wields? If so, then he is a greater fool than I previously thought.

Her blade continued to be chipped away little by little but it held against the relentless assault of the Slayer Candidate.

“Your power isn’t earned brother” She said softly. They were close enough to each other than he could hear easily enough “It is stolen.”

She locked his blade with hers with the cross guards before using her right arm to grab his wrist before twisting painfully. Sadly, there was no satisfying *crunch* signifying a broken bone however the pain was evident on his face.

“My power” She continued, ignoring the fact that she was beginning to bring the tide of battle to her side. “Was blessed from my greatest enemies. Gifts I had come to make mine. Strength I had earned, power I had trained, mind I had fortified.”

Despite her gaining the upper hand of the fight, it seems her blade was nearly at an end as the cracks in the blade began growing wider. Small sounds of shattering began to echo from within the blade as it told her that its time was nearing its end.

Azurite began to vibrate; not from it’s power or shinsu but rather in its efforts to hold itself together for even a moment longer. Longer for the one master it served with all its iron heart, Pandora.

Pandora had listened and considered each word he had said and began connection the dots of the stories, the warnings, and his power. She would know if there was an Arie Family member which had decided to opened join FUG as a Slayer Candidate.

Especially so as a D-rank Regular which would mean that the said person would be only a few centuries older than her…but no. She had no information on a recent member of the family which had joined the largest criminal syndicate in the tower…though she had one clue.

His words, his arrogance, his disposition, pointed towards one thing…a lie. A lie as to who he had introduced himself as. He was someone that should not exist anymore and yet, looking at the man in front of her, she was forced to recognize the signs of the said being.

An ancient demon who had lost his power. A cruel King. A true Slayer.

“I know who you are” Her blade began to fall apart slowly, beginning from the tip. Hoaquin’s smile widened as he realized that her blade would not last long.

“Then state his Majesty’s Name” He grinned fully, showing his perfect teeth on full display. Showing the very teeth which had chewed through countless souls through his long life. The same teeth which, so very much, wished to devour her as well.

“You are the tenth Slayer of FUG, White.” She began, much to the Slayer’s pleasure “The demon who had sworn to kill our-, no, my father.” She could not accept that such an existence was family anymore.

They might share blood, but the only thing that flowed between them was the inability to understand one another.

“You are the King whom had slaughtered billions to reap the power from their souls” Azurite finally gave way as it shattered into a million pieces. Shards from the blade flew past them as it embedded into the walls around them.

The former Slayer laughed in triumph as his blade, now unhindered, made its way towards her. So bisect her in half, reap her of her soul, and gain further power. With the soul of a Princess, blessed with the blessings of the King himself, he might just become whole once again.

Yet fate was not on his side, it never was.

An unknown force slowed the swing of his sword…as if the shinsu itself was repelling his very blade. But that was impossible…shinsu of a regular cannot hold back the sharpness of an Arie. It was the blade which cut through the shinsu, not the other way around.

The only hint he got was the pulse of power from his victim’s left eye. An eye still shrouded in mystery hiding underneath the eyepatch of Jahad.

A blade of light began materializing in the fallen Azurite’s place as it raced upwards to intercept the fallen King’s blade. The light, solidified, had managed to place itself between its master and the foe which wished to harm her.

*clang!*

Color formed on the blade of light as it materialized into a thin blade straight out of a legend. It was blade that Pandora had called forth very few times in her entire journey up the tower. A blade reserved only for the strongest, the hardest, and toughest of foes.

It was the blade her father had gifted her, the sword which her swordsmanship was trained and taught around, and the sabre which had travelled long before she became its owner.

A story in and of itself. The blade was given the name Tell- Tale

“I heard you were defeated by my sister, Hagipherone” She whispered softly “It’s time for you to fall again…but this time forever”

The thin and frail looking blade began to glow white as shinsu was charged into the form. Space distorted slightly around the construct as the shinsu around it bent before being sucked into the blade of legend.

“Ignition-Prologue”

The two words were the last thing the tyrant King heard before he registered what had happened. His majestic blade, fallen…his heart…pierced.

Once again, he had failed. Failed as he was so close to rising once again to the pinnacle of the the tower…fallen, once again, to one that shared his blood and blade.

“Impossible…!” He grit his teeth as his black blood began to bleed through the open wounds “His Majesty cannot die…!”

He truly believed he would not, for after all…he was a god. God to the little subjects that he had once ruled over, god to the pitiful servants of FUG, god to the mortals below him.

In an all out attempt at resisting the eternal sleep, the souls he had corrupted burst from his very self. Negative aura, unholy miasma, the souls of the damned attempted to defend him. To separate the their King from the thin blade in which he remained impaled from.

Yet, all was gone in a flash as they were devoured by an unseen force.

It must have been an illusion…a false image he was seeing from all the pain, the shock, and the circumstance and yet for an instant…he was a tall jar of unknown origin.

Seemingly ancient, depicting old paintings of myths yet to be told. The open lid had ate it all…devoured every last spirit he has unleashed to terrorize. Worse still was the expressions of the damned as they screeched in agony as they were dragged into the dark depths within.

As the lid closed and the jar (pithos) was gone as if it had never existed…he found his connection to the same damned souls gone. Cut as if it were string, tumbled and gone from his sight and reach like stone.

No…no! His Majesty cannot die here! Not in this place…He had goals to accomplish, beings to slay. People to reap of souls and lands to devastate. His name was not yet known across the tower…he must live, survive, to see it done.

Even during his moments of defeat, he did not die…his ritual of immortality had saved him. While it had bound him to the Hell Train, separated, weakened, and yet he was still alive. This time, too, would be the same.

He was god…and gods didn’t die.

“I will devour you now” Pandora whispered as he hugged the falling form of the enemy King. “Devour you as you have done to countless. As I have done to ones who came before you.”

The King, not understanding, looked down slightly to see that for the first time, both her eyes were visible. The eyepatch which had obstructed her left eye was pushed upwards…but what he saw within scared him.

A sickening feeling as if he was staring into Hell itself. What laid within was not a single demon, but rather countless numbers of the foul beings.

She wasn’t a host to one Demon, she was a stronghold to them all.

“He’s all yours.” She softly spoke to the denizens within her.

The abyss grew as Hoaquin, for the first time, felt what he had always stolen be taken away. His very self, his very own, soul…be dragged into a dimension worse than Hell.

All the connections his essence had to his body was crudely torn one by one. His spirit becoming mangled, destroyed, and less. His personification giving out as his spirit strength gave up…his will lost.

The eyes of his soul did not see the same thing as his physical eyes had once seen. No longer was the girl in front of him merely a child of the same father…no longer was she a naive child…no…

She herself was a demon worse than all others. She wasn’t a fortress which housed the demons, she was it’s jailor, their wardens. Wardens to Hell

Ah…Father…he thought in his last moments … I am a sinner… so please do not forgive this foolish son.

As one of the greatest slayers of FUG began to fall, the young princess…his sister, didn’t spare another glance as she walked past him. Ignoring the broken form of her brother, dying on the golden floor, bleeding crimson.

“God, he called himself” She muttered “Gods have bled”

She walked up to the throne before placing her right hand on its thick golden arm rest while her left hand put her eyepatch back in place.

“Chaos remains silent/ Earth Mother Sleeps. Father Sky has fallen.”

Her left eye, although bleeding, showed no signs of overuse or exhaustion before it was, once again, covered from view with her signature symbol of Jahad.

“Atlas remains imprisoned. Prometheus is chained. Kronos has been slain.”

She heard the notification of the game ending as the throne shattered into a million shards of gold.

“The Titans have died”

She whispered under her breath.

“The gods are next”

AN: Please leave comments and reviews~ And take a nice cookie as well. Or carbonara...whichever you prefer.