Chapter 156

Like a Dream

Asha had been able to move all this while--but she resisted, knowing that if she did, the man would likely kill her. Her suspicions were confirmed when Sylas somehow broke himself free of the binds--if it had been her, she would have been entirely unable to defend herself. Though the binds were strong and devious, they were nothing against the Grace of Gods. There were very few things in the world that could completely trap her and this was not one of them.

As such, she turned into a statue--listening and ensuring to the best of her ability that she didn’t move. Luckily, the man’s attention seemed to wholly be on Valen as it appeared he didn’t think anyone could break free of the chains, as she had definitely moved once or twice. They were minimum movements, but the kind that can be noticed. It had been growing even more difficult to stay still the longer the conversation went on, especially once she realized that the Prince was being manipulated.

She wanted to shout at the young boy and wake him up from the sweet dream he was having but held back--held back for one, simple reason: Sylas. She trusted him to break himself free, somehow, someway. It would be amiss of her to claim she had even the faintest of a clue as to how the seemingly ordinary person broke free of such cosmic and ethereal chains, but... it was Sylas. Though she was the Prophet, he was the one making miracles happen.

And the miracle stood there, in front of the two of them, blood-washed, a blade in his hand, staring down a ghost in the palace of marble. The image calmed her heart and she found it the easiest to remain still since coming here. The energy expulsion from the figure seemed to decry the surrounding mist, undoing the world created.

The two men ran at each other again, swinging their swords. Though she lacked the eye for things such as sword fighting, even she could see that the level of battle was beyond mortal. The weight behind each swing left blade-shaped etchings on the floor, and the rousing sounds of the clashing metal sounded more akin to boiling explosions. The two men moved at such speeds it was almost imperceptible, leaving behind shadows and afterimages in their wake.

Sylas ducked and dodged a swipe before retaliating, and the man backed away for a moment before both sprinted at each other again. Asha, there, realized something: they were, eerily enough, gaining speed as the battle went on. At the start, though still difficult, she could somewhat make out their embered figures and moves. Now, however, they were mere blurs, her eyes unaccustomed to the speed showcased.

The man dashed sideways and crossed over forty feet in what felt like less than a second, and Sylas followed, spinning midair to dodge like a whirlblade, slicing several times in rotation to the man’s desperate defenses. The speeds of swings grew exponentially, too, so much so that even the sound began to lag behind them, as though the world itself was trying to catch up to the two men.

Of all the rest, one thing began to stand out the most: Sylas... was beginning to dominate. Even in the blurs that she was seeing, it wasn’t all that difficult to perceive the reality. As for the reason... it probably had to do with exhaustion, Asha gathered. She had realized something quite a while ago: it was virtually impossible to tire Sylas out. No matter how much he was wounded, how much he had to exert himself, it was as though he had an infinite source of energy resting within him.

Getting into a battle of attrition with him was essentially a prolonged and torturous suicide, and the man was experiencing it first-hand. Some five minutes later, the duo separated and stood some twenty yards apart, staring at each other. The one-eyed man had notably grown transparent, appearing more and more ghostly as the fight went on, likely because he expended that much more energy.

Sylas, on the other hand, aside from being bloody, seemed full in spirits. Asha knew that the bloodied appearance was pointless--his wounds healed so quickly that any blood you’d see on him was just for show. If anything, it just made him seem more demonic.

“Man, what a nice exercise,” Sylas said, wiping some sweat off his forehead, a huge grin on his face. “It’s been a while since I worked my bones out so cleanly. So, thank you for that, I guess. But... it looks like you’re beginning to run on fumes. So, how about you just give me the answers I want so I can send you to your ancestors as it’s supposed to be?”

“Humph, you may try to hide it, but you are running out of energy, too,” the man replied with a scoff.

“Hm? I’m not though?” Sylas tilted his head. “You misunderstood something, it seems. I wasn’t using energy to move about and overtake you, old ghost. Just good ol’ flesh, blood, and bones.”

“Impossible,” the man said without hesitation. “Human bodies have finite limits that can only be surmounted with efficient energy. I’ll concede your energy usage is very refined, but it’s not enough. You may have defeated me, but this is merely one of my many forms. My true self would have--”

“Are you done?” Sylas harshly interrupted the speech, the tone of his voice chilly as he suddenly crossed the distance between the two and ‘severed’ the man’s arm, taking the sword away. “That was me using energy. Why would I waste it on someone as weak as you? Your true self? What true self? Your technique is just trying to be flashy. There’s no doubt in my mind you were raised in the capital’s nobility. Don’t worry, though. Sooner or later, you and I will meet. And just like I bent you over my knee today in your ghost or whatever form, the day will come when I’ll spank your ass so hard you’ll cry for your momma who never raised you properly. Now,” Sylas grabbed the man’s head and began suffusing his fingers with energy. “I’m sure it will be a monumental loss, since this seems to be an important form of yours. And the longer I make it, the more suffering there will be, just like if your ‘true self’ was here.”

"... you made a severe mistake," the man grinned suddenly. "If you had simply stayed in shadows, you would have surprised us and might have even stood the chance of saving that old crone that lords over you. Does he think that disguising his son and giving him some moronic guard is insurance? From the day we learned in that hall that the Prince had the Eye... his fate was sealed. There is nothing he and especially not you can do to change it."

“Hmm... so, you were someone who participated in the ceremony that confirmed Valen’s gift,” Sylas mumbled. “From what the little Prince told me, it wasn’t a big ceremony, no?”

“And?” the man grinned. “You’ll be dead before you learn who I am.”

“Ah, yes, I keep being told that, repeatedly,” Sylas said. “But, you know, people are really forgetful. Who knows? Come a few dawns later, you might just forget about me entirely.”

“Keep those prayers in your heart.”

“I will,” Sylas said. “Now, you said that the Prince has the Eye. Why was he told his gift was worthless, then?”

“Do you tell a madman he has the power to ruin the world?” the one-eyed man grinned. “Besides, you ought to ask his daddy why. It was his choice.”

“It sounds to me that you lot were terrified to go after the King while the Prince was in the Palace,” Sylas said. “So, like the cowards that you are, you hid in your holes and waited. Waited for something. I’m guessing that the King, for one reason or another, is now vulnerable. And Valen is his security blanket for the future. Though, I’m pretty sure that future doesn’t include warring with the Gods.”

“You don’t--”

“You people are morons,” Sylas sighed. “There’s nothing scarier in the world than morons who think themselves clever... and have the voice and power to change things. Don’t worry about it too much, though. I’m here to fix those things, after all.”

Sylas injected a fraction more energy into his grasp and the man seemed to gasp for a moment before his one eye turned wholly black... and his body began to dissipate like smoke in the wind. What was left was a small, sand-seeming molehill that Sylas glanced at once before ignoring, turning around and walking toward Valen and Asha, both of whom were staring at him wide-eyed.

Suddenly, the world around them collapsed, and the true one revealed itself--they were near the lake, amid the ruins, the same as Sylas recalled them. He glanced above the lake and contemplated for a moment before shaking his head. He didn’t think the King so sentimental that he’d ignore Sylas breaking the direct ‘order’ just because he had Valen in tow. If the King was that kind of a man, he’d have never sent Valen away in the first place.

Today, however, was quite fruitful. Sylas had learned that at least one of the heads was quite close to the royalty. It was even likelier than the King was very well aware of it all, perhaps even all the names involved in the conspiracy. That, however, begged the question: why did he, as one of the most powerful figures in the Kingdom, withdraw into the shadows instead of simply cleaning house? How was it easier to 'summon' Sylas rather than kill these clearly weaker people?

“... are you disappointed?” Sylas asked the Prince who smiled bitterly.

“A bit,” Valen replied. “It felt nice... for a moment.”

“What? I don’t make you feel nice enough?” Sylas cracked a smile.

“Ha ha, no, it’s not that,” Valen shook his head. “But... you’re also real. You don’t feed my head with fantasies. It... it felt nice, being told I could do all those things.”

“Remember this, Valen,” Sylas crouched in front of the young Prince and grabbed the back of his head gently. “You’re no lesser than the rest of us, no matter what they say. Heart to heart, you stand taller than giants. A man’s worth is never so shallow, little one. Great--nay, beyond great things have been done by people the world saw as weak, simply because their bodies could not keep up with their majesty. Never let anyone tell you you can't fly, little Prince. Your wings may not be feathered, but they are eternal, I promise you that much."