249. The Oracle’s Sacrifice
The Essence of Proleptis drifted through the air, a spiralling nebula around the orb, gravitating toward Lacheryn’s palms. For the first ti in eons, her upper arms halted their eternal spinning. The holo-threads suspended in the air; ti itself seed to freeze. Frost crept over the ti domain.
Only those within this chamber possessed the luxury of the present mont.
“We shall begin,” Atropaia uttered, her voice echoing with ancient weight. Her gaze swept through the onlookers, a coldness that crept into their very souls.
Triss kneeled on the floor in reverence, her head hung low. She closed her eyes, lips moving in an inaudible prayer.
The Titanesses exchanged a solemn nod.
Like a ritualistic dance from a forgotten era, Lacheryn and Atropaia began to weave the strange light. Space distorted around them like broken planes of glass—reality itself being unmade and re-stitched.
A tempest whirled around the centre of the chamber, swaying their bodies from side to side. Cartier gripped Cubie’s hand tightly, their expressions etched with dread.
Zetius forced his eyes open against the gale. He owed this witness to her.
The gust of wind blew past his hair, nearly knocking him forward. It slithered across the room and crashed into the praying girl at the centre. Triss’s veil blew off, and her dark, smooth hair fanned out as her body levitated into the air.
Her heart drumd hysterically, but she kept her eyes squeezed shut.
Majestically, Lacheryn weaved the thread of arcane from the Essence, while Atropaia transferred the surge of power directly into Triss.
“Now, Sister Clothia, we call upon your power once more—Proleptis!” the Titanesses chanted in unison.
A strange hum from the organ played in the background, a vibrating bass that marked the finality of the ritual.
“Marvellous. So this is the true power of divinity…” Nyrethein watched with awe, the dancing light reflecting in her wide eyes.
Triss clenched her jaw as power surged through every fibre of her body. It was overwhelming. Her senses beca overloaded with distorted images, clashing and colliding with one another in a chaotic kaleidoscope.
“Ah!” Triss gasped. A prickling heat seeped into every pore of her skin. Her cry was nearly muffled by the roaring organ and the raging wind.
“Open your eyes!” Atropaia commanded loudly. Her voice did not just travel through the air; it echoed directly inside Triss’s mind.
Suddenly, a flash of light poured out of Triss’s eyes. The space itself beca a blinding haze.
The bright light faded, replaced by the interior of a strange, long chamber. It was decorated with ornate gold fras and complex wallpaper that exuded an air of imnse wealth. Long corridors were lined with peaked windows that extended to the high ceiling.
A low murmur of discussion reverberated through the hall. High officials and mages in dark navy formal attire shifted about restlessly.
In the middle of it all, a dark elf stood out, sitting cross-legged on one of the two thrones. His silver hair cascaded down his back like a waterfall, glistening in the filtered light.
Heavy, thick footsteps rang out in the hallway, shattering the low murmur. A large Siberian tiger Animori drifted through the crowd, his shoulders squared and his thick tail swaying—an imposing force of nature.
“…Magnus Primarch, the eastern border has been secured with your new decree of the Warmonger deploynt. Following the fall of their chieftain, the demonic force is reported to be suppressed for the ti being,” the Animori said firmly. “Seems like we hit them hard.”
“What delightful news, Lunarius Luger!” a female mage bead.
“Looks like the Helltide is no match for our Arcanists after all,” a tall high official said, his chest puffing up with pride.
The faces of the royal subjects brightened with ease. So brushed their chests gently in relief; others wiped the sweat from their foreheads.
Stephen Vale brushed his fingers across his creased brow. “Lunarius Luger. What about the missing Lunarius mages?”
Luger blinked, his face downcast. “Unfortunately, we haven’t found them… yet.”
His report sent a shock that earned him a soft gasp throughout the room.
“My good people,” Stephen rose to his feet, holding one arm horizontal to the floor with practised regality.
The people turned to watch him, curiosity sparking in their eyes.
“We might win this battle, but we can never grow complacent.” He scanned the faces of his most trusted allies. “The demonic uprising will return while our forces dwindle. We must do our due diligence. Take up arms now. Report any sign of infection. We must nip the bud before it becos a blooming Helltide…”
Inside the Moirai chapter, the transmitted imagery in their mind’s eye grew distant.
Nyrethein wiggled her nose. “Why are we receiving this?”
“Is this the future?” Aurora frowned, looking at Cartier. She shrugged in response.
“It can’t be… This is just the present. Luger is supposed to return ho today,” Nyrethein grumbled, chewing her lip.
Zetius watched through his curtain of silver hair at the floating girl. The Titanesses continued to weave their magic, but Triss’s face was distorting, her brows pointing upward in anguish. No matter how much she tried to suppress the pain, she couldn’t hide it for long.
“Hang in there, Triss… We can stop—I will stop it if it becos too much to bear,” his mind said aloud.
“Triss…” Cartier grasped tightly at Cubie’s leg. Her tail dropped to the floor.
“Arrgh!” Triss gasped through her gritted teeth.
Another burst of light flashed through the hall.
This ti, the vision revealed shifting dark shadows. It was blurry and indiscernible at first.
Then, the vision focused. Everything beca clearer.
Demonic outlines, thousands of them, marched in an erratic pattern. Their fangs glead with malice, their eyes glowing red. The ground shook violently, trembling under the weight of an unseen catastrophe.
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Another flash.
A limping, thin elven mage rushed across the floor, trembling. The crowd inside the vision snapped their heads in unison at the grueso sight. Screams echoed from the courtiers as they saw his tattered arc coats.
“Lunarius Barne!” Luger’s eyes bulged as he rushed forward.
The elf collapsed. Blood dripped from a fresh wound on his shoulder, leaving a crimson stain on the otherwise pristine carpet.
“Where have you been?” Stephen gasped, frantically joining them. “Get a healer!”
The royal guards nodded in crisp fashion before striding off toward the side walkways.
Magnus Primarch of Britainia crouched to eye level, his coat sweeping the floor.
“Tell . What’s going on?” he repeated.
A wide smile flashed across Barne’s face.
Then, the white of his eyes turned pitch black. A blade ford in his hand instantly.
He struck at Stephen’s oblivious face.
“Traitor!” Luger snapped his hand, redirecting the blade to the side.
Too late.
A fan of blood splashed across the floor.
“W~why?” Stephen winced in pain. A dull numbness spread through his shoulder, quickly followed by searing agony.
Terrified screams echoed through the room. The high officials scrambled backward, tripping over themselves to get out of the way. It was every person for themselves.
A deep, demonic laugh reverberated from Barne’s throat.
“We are legion… The Helltides will rise higher with every receding wave…” There was true horror in his rattling tone.
“Tsk! You!” Luger growled, raising his arms to the side. His body shielded the Magnus Primarch. The royal guards frantically rushed to his sides, their weapons at the ready.
Barne’s skin turned a flashing red, his shape distorting and expanding rapidly in mass.
Luger’s eyes widened with shock as the realisation hit him. “Phoros, now!” he roared.
BOOOOOOOMMMM!
The thunderous explosion echoed, snapping the spectators out of the vision.
“My brother!” Nyrethein breathed out, her mind racing. Was it the present or the future? She was no longer certain.
“No more—ARRRGH!” Triss scread. Her body bent into an awkward position, her fingers digging frantically into her scalp.
“STOP THIS NOW!” Zetius pushed through the distorted reality plane. His knuckles turned white as he slamd his fist into the invisible barrier, shattering the glass of reality.
The Titaness heeded not his words against the wind. Atropaia rely spared him a pitiful glance.
His throat growled. It fuelled his anger even more. A surge of crackling energy rushed through his fingers, static sparks arcing like tendrils of pure electricity.
He could no longer stand by and watch her in pain. His crackling fist collided and shattered the glass plane, one after another. This was everything he stood against.
The massive orb was the last obstruction in his rescue. He pushed through the searing pain in his hand and raised his fist.
“STOP—”
His words were cut off as another flash of light blinded him.
A hot breeze blew past him, carrying the acrid tang of gunpowder, ozone, and the sickly stench of charred flesh that stung his nostrils. But most prominent of all was the unbearable reek of sulphur.
Zetius found himself standing amidst total annihilation.
Corpses with red skin were piled like mountains. Blood and entrails painted the battleground until there was nothing but carnage.
“What in the world…” he muttered. A trickle of blood dripped from his head; his fingers found a tingling cut on his forehead.
“Is this… our future?” A small, shaking voice escaped his lips. Exhaustion settled into every fibre of his body.
He spotted a looming castle. The remnants of the battle were piled up against the rubble that used to be the wall.
“Borealis Castle?” He couldn’t believe his eyes. Broken spire, collapsed towers, it was in utter ruin, beyond recognition. His eyes brimd with sorrow; the dancing smoke and flas felt like a taunt of his own inadequacy.
“My failure.”
“Cubie… Cartier… Triss… Everyone?”
His heart plumted. His eyes darted frantically left and right, searching for any sign of life amidst the ruin. Vertigo assaulted him, his skull throbbing with a violent pressure. His fingers dug into his scalp in a desperate, frail attempt to claw away the pain.
“Empress?!” he scread, but only a hoarse, shaking whisper ca out.
Eventually, he felt an acceleration. His surroundings beca a hazy blur.
He opened his eyes at the source of it all.
As if the earth itself had been carved into a massive spiral abyss, easily the size of a small village.
It shared a similar fate to the rest of the land — corpses piled up into mountains around its edge, up and down, up and down like dunes.
There, he spotted her.
A lone standing figure, her silver hair fluttering in the wind, her dark armour soaked in the blood of her enemies.
“Empress!” Zetius scread, but his voice vanished, drowned in the roar of the wind.
Aurora clutched her stomach, purple fla raging from massive wounds. Her legs barely supported her weight.
“No…” His breath hitched. His heart skipped a beat.
With that, the strongest Arcanist collapsed and tumbled into the abyss below.
“AAH!” Zetius scread.
His vision snapped back into focus. Triss’s wailing beca louder. He saw her now, her fingers clawing at her own eyes in agony. Her jaw opened inhumanly wide.
CRACK!
His slam connected with the barrier, and the explosion threw him tens of tres backward.
He rolled across the platform before stopping firmly with his legs and hand.
“Triss!” Zetius dashed forward and caught her falling body in his embrace.
The sobbing tore at his soul.
“Ze~tius…” she gasped. Her hands flailed wildly in every direction, grasping for nothing.
“I’m here, I’m here,” he said, catching her flailing hands.
“Where~where are we?” Triss asked, her voice trembling.
“Nooo…”
His face etched with imasurable sadness when he saw her eyes. Once beautiful erald, filled with warmth and kindness, they were now a cloudy, blank white void.
His fingers clenched tight at her shoulder. His jaw tightened until his cheeks shook out of control.
“Sister…” Atropaia said, her voice small.
“It is done. We shall not interfere any more,” Lacheryn said sternly. Her upper hands began to spin the thread again.
This was the gifted curse. Power paid for in blood.
The Titanesses’s footsteps faded as they stepped away, their backs turned against the party.
“Zetius! Let fix this!” Nyrethein rushed forward, her fingers already weaving black light.
His unmoving, dead eyes just glared at her.
The sheer intensity of them was unparalleled.
She felt a staggering pressure, heavy as the earth’s core. There were no words needed.
For the first ti, Nyrethein froze, her foot suspended in the air. With a slow and deliberate motion, she pulled back.
“It is the wrath of gods…” her mind scread.
“Zetius… I can’t see… Why is it so dark?” Triss’s voice was small. Such a cruel fate for such a sweet girl who had never hurt a fly.
“I’m scared…” Triss’s voice finally snapped him out of his outrage. Her fingers yanked at his tunic.
“Triss, I’m sorry…” Zetius said through his teeth. The blankness of her eyes was the testant of his failure. His failure as the protector he swore to be.
“I can’t see…” Triss’s face pressed against his chest, her warm tears running down like an endless river of sorrow. “I can’t see anything, Zetius…”
Zetius’s face was downcast, the weight of a grand waterfall crashing onto his neck, until he found a hand on his shoulder.
“Zetius… I shall see to it that the best doctor cares for her…” Aurora said. Even her firm voice faltered with guilt.
“You have my word…” This was not an oath; it had beco a confession.
“Terissa… I shall carry you out.” Aurora took the wailing lady from Zetius’s arms and carried her with both arms. Triss’s wailing beca a quiet sob that echoed through the sombre chamber.
Dark distortion shifted in and out of Zetius’s eyesockets. His gaze fixated on his empty palms, which achieved nothing.
“Zetius…” Cubie called with a shaky voice.
The man just sat there, motionless like a stone.
“Leave ,” Zetius whispered.
And it was enough for her to understand. She nodded quietly and shuffled away. This was the Zetius she knew all too well. The one she feared.
“Let us depart, we must prepare for this battle.” Nyrethein’s voice echoed. The space humd as Nyrethein opened the portal, and one by one, they stepped outside of the Dreamless Realm.
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