Chapter 84: The Astral Summit
The pristine, sterile scent of the Bastion Central Hospital was a stark contrast to the mud of Sector 4B.
Patriarch Vance Hennessey stood rigidly outside the ergency surgical theater.
His gray hair was slicked back, and his dented armor had been replaced by a formal, albeit rumpled, noble coat.
He watched through the thick observation glass as the finest Vanguard dical mages worked tirelessly to stabilize the flickering holy aura of his son.
Neville was alive.
The dics had assured him the boy would make a full recovery.
Hennessey pressed his scarred hand against the cold glass.
The overwhelming grief that had consud him for the past week was gone, replaced by a cold, heavy realization.
He had his son back, but he had sold his soul to a syndicate to get him.
He reached into his pocket.
His fingers brushed against the crisp black card the masked man had left on his nightstand.
The Hands embrace the dark.
Sector 4B. Slum Alley 9.
Those were not random coordinates.
Hennessey’s intelligence network was vast.
He knew those exact words.
It was the sa hidden code used by underground smugglers to arrange high-tier black market deals with the Don of District Four.
’Sirius Statanham,’ Hennessey thought, his golden eyes narrowing.
’An underworld rat is dealing with the monster who vaporized the Titan.’
---
Before the Patriarch could process the implications of this unholy alliance, the world around him simply stopped.
The frantic beeping of the dical monitors vanished. The dics froze mid-spell.
The harsh fluorescent lights of the hospital hallway dimd, replaced by an encroaching, suffocating darkness.
VWOOM.
Hennessey felt a sudden, terrifying pull on his soul. The floor beneath his boots dissolved into black mist.
He didn’t panic. He was a Vanguard Lord.
He imdiately flared his Valor of the Righteous Pyre, attempting to burn away the spatial displacent.
But his holy fire was instantly smothered, snuffed out like a candle in a hurricane.
When the darkness finally settled, Hennessey was no longer in the hospital.
He stood on a floor of polished obsidian.
An endless, starless void stretched out in every direction. The silence was so profound it physically hurt his ears.
In the center of the void sat a massive, circular table made of dark stone.
"Welco to the sanctuary, Patriarch."
Hennessey snapped his head toward the voice.
Standing on the opposite side of the table was the masked man, Zero.
He leaned casually against the stone, his featureless white mask reflecting the dim, ethereal light of the void.
But Zero was not the one speaking.
Hennessey slowly turned his gaze toward the head of the massive table.
Sitting in a high-backed obsidian throne was an entity that defied mortal comprehension. It had no face.
It was a shifting, towering silhouette of pure, localized cosmos.
Deep purple and dark blue nebulas swirled within its form.
The sheer, overwhelming pressure radiating from the entity forced Hennessey’s weakened knees to buckle.
He had stood before Lord Commander Goldmane. He knew what the apex of human power felt like.
’This is not human. This is a god.’
Standing respectfully to the right of the throne was Sirius Statanham, the scarred Underworld Don.
Sirius did not look surprised. He simply bowed his head in deference to the cosmic silhouette.
Zero pushed off the table and took his place to the left of the throne, bowing slightly.
Hennessey, a proud noble who bowed only to the Vanguard Commander, found himself dropping to one knee.
The pressure of the Astral Server demanded total submission.
"Rise, Vance Hennessey," the entity spoke. The voice was layered, echoing from everywhere and nowhere all at once.
Hennessey slowly stood, keeping his eyes lowered.
"You... you are the master of the Embracing Hands."
"I am the architect of the board," the deity corrected smoothly.
"You have your son back, Patriarch. The debt is officially established."
"I... I thank you, my Lord," Hennessey stamred, the words feeling foreign on his tongue.
He looked briefly at Zero, then at Sirius, struggling to comprehend the hierarchy of this terrifying organization.
"You saved my bloodline. But I must ask... what is the purpose of this syndicate? Why step out of the shadows now?"
The shifting cosmic entity leaned forward in the obsidian throne. The pressure in the void doubled.
"The board is changing, Vance," Draven’s layered voice echoed.
"Due to cosmic limitations, I cannot grant you the full scope of the picture. But hear this truth clearly: an apocalypse is coming to this planet."
Hennessey’s breath hitched.
"The Cult?"
"The Cult of the Eternal Eclipse is rely a symptom. A pathetic parasite feeding on the edges of the rot," the deity dismissed coldly.
"What approaches from the deep Abyss in exactly one year will shatter the Great Wall like porcelain. The current strength of Bastion Seven is laughable."
Draven let the terrifying prophecy sink in.
"Lord Commander Goldmane is a blunt instrunt. He cannot win the coming war alone," Draven continued.
"The future of this world rests entirely on the shoulders of the prodigies currently sitting in the Academy classrooms. But they are untested. They are soft. If they graduate under the current curriculum, they will die screaming."
Hennessey swallowed hard. The mory of the Corpse Titan rising from the mud was still fresh in his mind.
The Vanguard had broken in seconds. The entity was not lying.
"That is why I returned your son to you," the deity declared.
"He is a vital piece of the next generation. But a blade cannot be forged without fire."
Draven raised a shifting, cosmic hand, pointing directly at the noble.
"You possess the wealth and political influence of the high nobility. Statanham possesses the logistics, the smuggling routes, and the eyes of the underworld. Zero is my blade."
Draven paused, letting his gaze sweep over his three "subordinates."
"You will work together. I require a plan drafted imdiately. I want the Vanguard Academy’s curriculum quietly, drastically altered. The Special Class students must be forced out of the safety of the Bastion. Let them bleed in the Wildlands. Force them into high-tier dungeon raids. Arrange ’accidental’ encounters with threats that push them to the brink of death."
Hennessey’s eyes widened.
"You want to intentionally endanger the Academy students? Headmaster Vane will never allow it."
"You are a Patriarch," Zero chid in, his musical voice echoing from behind the white mask.
"Use your gold. Bribe the instructors. Fund independent Vanguard expeditions and ’request’ that the Academy supply the manpower. Create the crucible, Hennessey."
Sirius nodded gruffly.
"The underworld can supply the necessary monster bait and falsified dungeon permits. We can force the Academy’s hand from the shadows."
Hennessey looked at the underworld boss.
Just hours ago, he would have burned a man like Sirius to ash.
Now, they were co-conspirators in a plot to manipulate the entire military education system.
"Ti is of the essence," the cosmic entity warned, leaning back into the dark throne.
"The Beast Wave was just a gentle knock on the door. Prepare the children, Patriarch. Or watch your newly returned son die again."
VWOOM.
The void violently collapsed.
Hennessey gasped, stumbling backward.
His shoulders hit the cold wall of the hospital corridor.
The fluorescent lights were humming.
The dics were moving. The sterile scent of the hospital filled his lungs.
The Patriarch pressed a hand to his chest, his heart hamring against his ribs.
He looked through the glass window at his son, who was resting peacefully on the surgical bed.
The grief was gone. In its place was a terrifying, burning urgency.
He had a mission from a god.
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