Accidental Reaver

Chapter 212 - 211: Fate Eyes

Blistering gales ceased suddenly. Red sunlight once again felt hot against Veyri's skin.

Her Fate Eyes skill uncovered bubbling black skulls of death around her. A thirty foot Holy Ghoul Envoy had its crushing grip around her body. The Holy Ghoul widened its mouth, ready to eat. Its serrated teeth beheld green poisonous rot wisped with white aura. Drops of the poison dripped off the edges of its maw, landing onto the tundra below, turning it into corrosive, dead wasteland.

Beside her, the changed fool, Janeus, hacked away at the other Envoy's thumb. This one was a spiritual creature of wood and blood, but no less gigantic. Since the lucky bastard had his primary weapon still, he might free himself just before the Envoy ate him alive. Each Ichor blessed monster took its sweet time, the type to prefer to play with its meal. Veyri witnessed a faint mirth in the Spirit Envoy as it tightened its grip, making Janus involuntarily vomit and crush the flame searing around the elf's skin.

Veyri allowed herself a glance behind her, preferring to ignore the hole about to clamp down, and the damned tear staining one cheek. Fucking feelings always managed to peek out when it's nothing but a weakness. Behind her was a pile of viscera of what once was multiple tier 1 parties, with a handful of tier 2 captains—all dead now. Some sort of sick future feasting pile for these two Envoys. Lying helplessly at the tip of that pile was her epic silver gold bow, Apollos. A heirloom of her former noble family, the Bellonts, before their fall from grace resulted in all their executions and her exile, stripped of any title and last name.

She'd been their hope, as one of the extreme minority to inherit an exceptionally rare class from the Interface, the Redemptive Archer. She strained Fate Eyes, the ability that guided her this far, and recently drew her to heavily invest in Luke Wallace. The strings of fate around that man were thicker than even the ones around Moniba, her Tower Team captain. Sparks of lightning crackled on her dagger as she stabbed into the rotting flesh extremity, doing more harm than good. The Holy Ghoul Envoy lowly growled, then turned its already crushing force into a bone-breaking one. Veyri's ribs snapped. She spat, firmly accepting death.

"I hope I taste like shit, you overly blessed rotting bone sack."

Counter to the outer bravado she often abused, Veyri lamented her lack of achievements. She failed her family's vested hopes. Their decreed execution a decade ago still haunted her.

Fuck, I burst apart this thing's heart over five times. Its regeneration is worse to deal with than a hangover before a Tower dive. All that effort, and tearing out its second heart became impossible before the other reformed back, good as new. Moniba warned me about the power Ichor and Divinity grants to these things. Succoria's ass, serves me right for brushing that crap off. The sly tora better bury my remains after all the crap I put up with for her sake, and my dream.

Veyri womaned up, and stared back at the abyss of death about to swallow her in one gulp. Had she relied on Fate Eyes too much? Or interpret it falsely? It happened before, except, it never resulted in death, just a severe injury or setback. She laughed at the cruelty of it all. Worked to the bone, trained till her spirit broke, and the reward ended up being a meal for this undead freak show. Blood from cuts all over mixed with already red hair, and pooled at her eye sockets. Before her, the black skulls representing death suddenly turned gold, before vanishing entirely. A rushing of displaced wind overtook her sudden confusion.

BOOM.

A Frost Titan smashed into the ghoul about to eat her alive, its momentum carried over to the other Envoy beside it. Both monsters lost their grip. Veyri and Janeus fell to the blood-slick tundra with a wet plop. Eye's peeled, the Redemptive Archer searched in bewilderment, except for Wallace—that hard headed Defier—nobody should be alive in the direction the new Envoy came from.

And why did the thing look like a dessicated glacial corpse? Its weakened Ichor barely managed to begin the regeneration. Veyri had never experienced anything like it during the Tide thus far. She started to crawl back to her bow, the only thing she could trust to get her out of this hellhole alive.

By the Throned, Veyri couldn't remember the last time she experienced death tempting her so intimately. A soft thud alerted the woman to a new presence, one she hadn't sensed nor seen coming. Painfully twisting her head, Veyri saw its source.

"Wallace…you…what are you?"

The lack of pupils and a twisted gold-blue skull behind him aside, Fate Eyes unveiled an entirely different picture around the man she'd been desperately tempting into her Tower Team. After all, Fate Eyes screamed nothing else could lead her to a close-kept desire. Now, that same ability showed oceans of black waves and unholy golden lightning searing abyssal snow. Sin colored the man's soul, a dread and suppression she'd only felt in front of the City Lord or the High Defier spouted from Luke Wallace.

Luke seemed to ignore her, attention transfixed on the partially eaten party not so far from Veyri. The already thunderous soul image intensified, golden whirlpools unveiled in the black waves. Veyri picked up that Wallace cared for whoever rotted nearby. She struggled to remember the elf, until she recalled the woman mentioning her name before they teamed up to face the Holy Ghoul Envoy. She died alongside her four other party members. Elnora? Yes, that was it. What were the teammates? Terga? The others escaped her. Veyri hadn't known them long before they each died a horrible death, after all.

All of the signatures of misfortune from the blood splattered site transfused into the skull image behind Wallace. It ate the spiritual residue with sumptuous glee. The subdued purified aura expanded around the Defier. Frost platforms conjured up around the three Envoys. Yet another bounded in, thrusting its black spear at Luke. He dodged gracefully with no margin of error, dual colored mist clung to his skin. A vibrating blue-gold substance honed the edge of his blade, which shuddered in orgasmic delight. Gold lightning surfaced around his skin, and Veyri failed to see where the man vanished to. She heard a frost platform crack. Then another. There he was, bouncing off each one at a speed her senses couldn't capture, afterimages exponentially grew in number.

Cuts bloomed upon the three Envoy's clumped up. A creeping frost ate into the fresh wounds. Dark gold fiercely eroded the white aura unleashed by the challenged Ichor. Veyri must be imagining it. No, she had to be imagining it. With every cut, glacial frosting, and golden theft, she saw the spirit in Luke reforge, and the devoid aura around him fill up at an unimaginable pace.

Could he…could he steal power from others? As the Envoys struggled against him, he only sped up. Fate Eyes shed light, and all that lost strength gifted itself to Wallace. When strained to the limit, this ability of hers sometimes allowed the veil around reality to weaken. By the second, Veyri witnessed motes of attributes, both common and rare, settle into this enigmatic man. Mental agony struck her—a backlash. A sure aftereffect when Fate Eyes pried into something beyond its station. As the threads of clarity vanished, Veyri entertained a last thought as fatigue conquered another victim.

I hope he remembers I saved his life once. Hate to be the target of the demons that compose his Soul Plane.

Grisa brought out her self developed Divinity to plate her black fur and obsidian hooves.

A weak connection all Envoys shared with each other as bearers of the Ichor pinged within her. The self aware mortal faction, the Sacrament, also responded to the call. A pity, all its weaker members had been purged already by the Sound Elemental Human, Ophelia Cyrn. One of the two mortals each Envoy and Diplomat had been warned of. Counter to those efforts, two tier 3, and multiple tier 2 mortals converged this way. Tidal monsters responded to the unexpected nexus of activity. An additional eight Envoys rushed to this location.

As she anticipated, there was a total lack of response from any of the other three High Envoys alive on the battlefield. Whether it be a matter of laziness, pride, or engagement in a fight, none answered the call. The hair covering her all over stood up in alert. This creature of the unholy dared to reverse the Tide on this front by itself. Worse still, it seemed to be succeeding. She strategized swirling darkwood into the blessed spear and her divine form.

You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

Her knowledge was taken; lost. It shattered her pride as a superior being, but she acknowledged this new Defier possessed the ability to steal away her strength somehow. Even bits of her Divinity or gifted Ichor. Something that, by all accounts, should be impossible. Defiers, through their treasonous brand, denied any divine influence. But to take the Divinity barred from the members of the four races? In addition, if she allowed direct strikes or any of its elemental ice to touch her, hard-won attributes left her almost every time, and fed into this unholy abomination. Awaiting a real chance to slaughter this delicious tribute, she focused on defense, a feat getting more difficult by the moment.

In her centuries, Grisa overcame countless trials and encountered the gifted members of the four races. Whether it be in a Tide to the three Pantries or a probing into the defiling settlement, Extrema, she clashed against many of the 'best' cursed mortals. Lower end Defiers, fresh tier 3 idiots, or those with a decent grasp of a technique, she'd seen it all firsthand. And, at a distance, the Pillars of Extrema used Concepts in her presence during past battles. This allowed her to understand when a being used a Concept. The glacial Defier embodied a Concept whenever gold appeared in its abilities. Both of her hearts—the mobile one included—strained. Controlling Divinity and the innate darkwood simultaneously for defense stretched Grisa's abilities. To fight against this creature, she needed no less.

Any lesser Envoy would be a mountainous target dummy to it now. Genius failed to describe this Defier. If Grisa could rewind time, she would entreat the Banner Bearer, Yuriel, to assign two Diplomats to kill this mortal on sight. She resolutely placed it as the fourth or fifth most threatening obstacle. The information reports fed by the Sacrament, instead, placed it below rank 70. Overall, the report indicated the Ninth was a Novice Defier, worth the attention of two blessed Envoys. Should Grisa gain the chance, she'd tear that foolish spy to shreds. This was something even the better developed mortals in Extrema would be hard pressed to replicate. An evolved human—of the elemental variant—with an Exalted Heart, and a rudimentary understanding of a Concept.

How in the Throned would anyone think this creature, currently slashing apart three lower Envoys, was a Novice Defier? It manifested a Concept for Succoria's sake! She witnessed the mortal steal away the knowledge of consumption, and evolve its artifact weapon. By a sick twist, it gorged on the power of others, stealing everything that composed them. Divinity, Ichor, Attributes, Knowledge, even Affinities. None of those were something so easy to replace. After the Sinned Era, the four races were denied the Divine Path.

That didn't stop this incarnation of the unholy from taking it anyway. By the second, it changed to nullify the innate advantages her kind held over the weak mortals. Far superior attributes, both normal and special, Divinity, regeneration, often higher affinity, and the blessings of Ichor, to name a few. While the vile mortals developed their own tools, techniques, Domains, or Concepts, they were trifles against the truths of Divinity. Grisha long held that belief, tricks developed as a dying gasp from suffocating inferiors. The display here caused her to question those deep-rooted world views. Lesser blessed failed to keep up against the devouring gold and arctic ice so easily inflicted by this being. Cuts spread against the Ichor's healing, eating it, then developing a deeper hunger. The metaphysical skull behind the mortal bit into the other two unfortunate Envoys, claiming pieces of their soul.

Going into high alert, Grisa listened to the divine sense radiating around. She shifted her spear to her exposed left and reinforced it with darkwood abilities, barely holding out against the Defier's lightning-quick strike. The strength behind the blow surpassed any expectations, nearly double what he produced when they first clashed. She slid back, and before she could retaliate, he was gone.

His strikes are strengthening too fast. The skull eats away at us assisting the other methods this Defier used. The three Lower Envoys are an appetizer, and I…

"Ah." Grisa chuckled in dark amusement in spite of the terrible situation she found herself in. Perhaps she made a mistake calling more Lower Envoys this way. By this point, the other High Envoys, or better yet, a Diplomat needed to step in. Otherwise, she served up morsels to a creature more gluttonous than even a god creature.

"This must be how the mortals feel. To realize they're nothing but food. I must say, it isn't pleasant."

Sickly vines and dark red topped trees flourished around the High Envoy. She fed Divinity into her spear, the only real counter she possessed against a Concept. The Ichor fought well enough against the Elementalization tool the mortals sometimes possessed, but utterly failed against anything highly mastered. She sent a distress signal to each Diplomat and High Envoy—ignored by all of them. The Defier's strange black bird—a beast that flummoxed her with its mobility and rotting effect—dove past her, setting in between the two discarded tier 2 mortals hanging onto life by a thread.

Hot on its heels was the Lifefire Drake and Infernal Balrog, respectable Envoys, faithful, but lacking any sort of higher thinking capacity. A trait common among the blessed until they developed their own Divinity, becoming a High Envoy, and shedding sole reliance on the Ichor any of the Throned or other gods gifted to the holy chosen. Something that Grisa anticipated would result in their deaths today.

While she believed, like always, she would come out on top. The sinful mortal would extract a heavy price before succumbing to the Tide. For now, she held, and began to cover for the only other Envoy present that possessed a worthy advantage against the Defier. The Frost Titan. After all the recent weakening, it wasn't as pronounced, but the frosts produced from the mortal lacked real bite against the frost-specialized Envoy.

Gripping her darkwood and Divinity-infused spear with all the skill and strength within, Grisa expanded out the divine sense, pressing its position near the Titan's back. Together, she thought, the two of them could weather the violet storm until either enough High Envoys realized the gravity of the situation, or a Diplomat slaughtered its way here.

The plan logically worked in her head, and she sent a continuous stream of information over the shared Ichor link. So why did the rebuilding ice, swirling with gold, mock her every thought and move?

Somewhere along the way, Grisa experienced a cold realization. The positions reversed entirely, the hunter, the hunted. The predator, the prey. The blessed, now the branded. The consumer becoming consumed.

Four additional Envoys, each a paragon of one aspect or another, arrived. Including the Lifefire Drake and the Balrog, Grisa accounted for ten Envoys. A gigantic head of a Holy Ghoul disintegrated into the tundra beside her. Ice with golden swirls tore apart its headless body, consuming both hearts. The aura around the unholy Defier spiked in density.

Sighing, Grisa amended her number. Nine Envoys. With more on the way, she should feel secure—she was anything but. Listening to her instincts, the Satyr went against the usual amused pride and directly asked the other High Envoys within range for help.

Verox, Perni, and Obiloon, you dreadfully dull idiots, come this way, before this thing grows beyond something any of the Envoys can handle.

A trifecta of mocking, dismissal, and beratement assaulted the spiritual Ichor connection. Tensing, Grisa devised a possible escape plan. Another gigantic head, this time from the blood and wood spirit Envoy, splattered and unraveled, rolled up to the Satyr's hooves. Its entire spiritual body was encased in frost with swirling gold. While springing around from platform to platform, the Defier sliced the Envoy into increasingly smaller segments until the devouring skull swallowed it whole, once again feeding the sinful mortal.

Dreadful force landed at her side, going faster than her divine sense could react to. She blew back, hitting the Balrog still insistent on attacking the crow rather than the festering golden plague nearby. A corrupting patch of Concept ridden frost ate away at her Divinity. In abject horror, Grisa cut off the affliction before it was too late. Abandoning any hope of the proper forces mustering before the unholy mortal grew beyond her means, she got up, ready to run.

A critical error.

Cruel frosted metal ripped through her heart, poking out the Satyr's chest. Whatever Concept this Defier embodied, embedded itself at that core. Leaving only her mobile heart left to carry the burden of battle. White blood spilled from the wound. Crazed words reached her in a whisper of the arctic winds.

Where is he? Give him back. Which one of you took him away?

Sword in her chest, Grisa cursed whoever took away this him from the Defier. She knew what the mortal was experiencing currently, the Pupilless State. An incredibly dangerous phenomenon to face. Albeit rare beyond words to encounter. It required multiple conditions to activate. She cared not to go over them, but with that whisper, one surfaced to the top of her already dying mind.

To enter that state, while facing a being with Divinity, the bearer of an Exalted Heart had to possess a desire for something stolen away from them. Something they valued more than their lives. Oftentimes, the easiest way to produce such a desire was to take away someone an Exalted Heart bearer considered either a lover or closest family. As such, an unsaid rule was set in place, despite the discontent it caused. To never touch those close to any mortal with a confirmed Exalted Heart if in any way possible. And now, Grisa learned this rule had been violated.

Using a claw, she extracted out the blade, whirling her spear behind to force the Defier away. All she hit was air. She almost felt insulted. The dreadful creature gave its attentions to one of the newly arrived Envoys, leaving her broken and bleeding to torture later.

Which short-sighted fool risked creating a mortal able to tap into the forbidden state? Aloysius earned the sixth spot on the list in the Third Pantry from that ability alone.

A pool of white expanded underneath her hooves. Her darkwood abilities, assisted by Ichor, struggled to contain the rampaging concept eating away at one of her hearts. Grisa excised the contaminated heart and the flesh surrounding it. An emergency measure, painfully expelling the worst of the Concept and elemental frost. After the flesh renewed itself, a new heart reformed, beating a minute later.

As the Satyr stumbled away, she abandoned the Frost Titan Envoy, leaving it to fate. Only the strong or cunning would survive. Two tier 3 Sacrament members kneeled before her, recognizing the Grisa as the highest ranking Envoy present. Ranks of tier 2 mortals, all with at least one drop of diluted Ichor, stood behind them.

"We come to serve, Envoy, the day of our judgment calls to the waves." A tier 3 sacrament member spoke, formerly a tier 3 hunter until the Tide demanded his sacrifice. He flicked out his tongue, Succoria's imprint rose to its surface.

Grisa disdained to work with any mortal, but many of the Diplomats instructed to use the Sacrament members, as they had their uses. Already in an unfavorable position, she set aside personal qualms.

"Surround the Defier, activate your Domains to suppress his speed. Use the lives of the other lower Sacrament believers to delay and contain the unholy. When enough die, sacrifice their Ichor blessed blood to build a temporary Divinity Plane. Trapping the Defier there will result in certain death."

"Your will be done. The believers will chant the scripture to the heathens, to take the lives of the vile Defiers is deliverance to our cursed souls."

The torturous pain left Grisa's body. Elation replaced it, as a wide smile returned. Mortals. Always their own worst enemy. The irony tasted sweeter than the best flesh she'd ever chanced upon.